


A Dangerous Game

by illinigal



Series: Winter's King [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dark!Daenerys, Dark!Jon, Gen, Not typical Jon and Daenerys romance, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-02-23 13:52:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 52
Words: 104,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13191444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illinigal/pseuds/illinigal
Summary: It has been three years since Jon and Daenerys saved humanity from the White Walkers.  However, things aren't settled.  Plots and treasons from old and new enemies threaten their thrones and their very lives.  Sometimes peace is more dangerous than war.





	1. Petyr I

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to the Wars Yet to Come. You can probably follow along without reading the first story but events in the first book will be referred to.
> 
> This series also stemmed from my dislike of the direction that the series in Season 7 and where I fear it is headed in Season 8, especially with the relationship dynamics between Jon and Dany. I hate that the show unnecessarily chose to turn Jon into a powerless servant and mistress. Jon is Daenerys' equal ruler, he doesn't kneel, and he stands up to her frequently rather than walking two steps behind her as an obedient subject like he does on the show. So if you liked the show's characterization of the relationship and only see Jon as a powerless consort (FYI, kings cannot be consorts), you probably won't like this story.
> 
> Oh, and Jon's Targaryen name is Jaeherys because the show's decision on that was just dumb.
> 
> Edit: There have been some questions about titles and ages so here they are.
> 
> Royal Family of the Six Kingdoms of Westeros and the Independent Kingdom of the North:
> 
> His Majesty, Jaeherys (Jon) Targaryen, the King of the Six Kingdoms of Westeros and King In the North- 25 years old
> 
> Her Majesty, Daenerys (Dany) Targaryen, the Queen of the Six Kingdoms of Westeros and Queen In the North - 24 years old
> 
> His Highness. Eddard (Ned) Targaryen, the Crown Prince of the Six Kingdoms of Westeros and of the North - 3 years old
> 
> Her Highness, Rhaella (Rhae) Targaryen, Princess of the Six Kingdoms of Westeros and of the North - 9 months old
> 
>  
> 
> The Royal Family of the North
> 
> Her Highness, Sansa Stark, the Princess Regent of the North - 22 years old
> 
> Her Highness, Arya Stark, Princess of the North, Mistress of War and Ships - 20 years old
> 
> His Highness, Brandon Stark, Prince of the North - 19 years old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr Baelish plots to overthrow Jon and Dany from his exile in Braavos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes our favorite villain is back. Lord Baelish is one of my favorite baddies in the series. He is this great sort of Dickensian schemer and I was disappointed with how he met his end in Season 7.

Petyr hated the elegant canals and gleaming white houses of Braavos.  The city was admittedly beautiful when compared to the crowded slums and noxious stenches of King’s Landing and it was, like all cosmopolitan cities, a good place in which to do business.  However, the elegant porticos and bridges and canals also reminded Petyr of his failure.  _I should be sitting on the Iron Throne with Sansa Stark as my queen_ , he thought.  _But rather Jaeherys Targaryen is King of Westeros, the Iron Throne destroyed in some egalitarian gesture, and I am stuck here in exile._ Petyr silently sneered at the thought of the Rhaegar Targaryen’s son and the aura of fate that seemed to protect that insipid young man.

 _However, fate is a fickle lover.  One of these days it will turn on Jaeherys Targaryen and I will be there to profit from his fall_ , Petyr mused as he walked along the elegant canals toward his well-appointed house in the center of Braavos.  That insipid king’s downfall was inevitable.  All he had to do was watch and wait for the inevitable to happen and be prepared to profit when it did.

When Petyr finally arrived at his gleaming mansion, a timid servant greeted him at the door.  “Milord, there is a man waiting for you in your outer study.  He said that he had a proposal that you might be interested in.”

“Did you ask him what this proposal was?” Petyr asked sharply as he glared at the servant.

“No Milord, I didn’t think it my place to pry,” the man answered timidly.

“So instead you just let a nameless stranger into my house without asking his business?” Petyr growled as he grabbed the servant by the collar of his threadbare linen shirt.

“Sorry Milord,” the servant replied meekly.

Petyr grimaced.  He should beat the man for his disobedience but he was feeling generous today.  The prospect of making more money always made him feel more generous than he should be.  He loosened his grip on the servant, pushed the man aside, and walked to his study.  He was greeted there by a man in his mid-twenties with classic Valyrian silvery hair and purple eyes.  Petyr rolled his eyes slightly when he saw the stranger.  Doing business with those who insisted they were descendants of Old Valyria always annoyed him.  They were arrogant to a fault but didn’t have any particular intelligence or gifts to justify their high opinions of themselves.  However, money was still money so he would hear this man out regardless.

“My Lord Baelish,” the stranger said with a quick nod as he remained seated.  The man eyed him up and down.  It appeared he was as unimpressed by Petyr’s appearance and demeanor as his host was by his.

Lord Baelish’s eyes narrowed and his lips pursed into a slight scowl.  This one was so disdainful of him that he couldn’t even properly hide his contempt.  _Never mind that_ , Petyr thought as he stared into the young man’s purple eyes.  The more arrogant these Valyrians were the stupider and easier to fool they were.  _Perhaps taking this one for a ride will be enjoyable_ , he mused silently.

After a moment of tense silence, Petyr spoke.  “My servant said that you had a proposal for me, sir,” he observed calmly.  “My Lord –“  He paused and walked to a deep mahogany side table to pour two glasses of Braavosi red wine.  “I’m sorry but my servant didn’t tell me your name.”  He handed the young man a glass of wine and sat down in a chair facing him.

The stranger took a tentative sip of his wine.  “That is because I didn’t give him a name.  I thought that your servants would reject me as a fraud if I told them who I was.  Few seem to believe me,” the man stated in a haughty voice.  “And the proper title of address is ‘Your Grace’, not ‘My Lord.’  You see my name is Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen, and I am the rightful king of Westeros.”

Petyr sneered at the stranger.  “I thought that you had a proposal for me, My Lord,” he replied sharply.  “I am a serious man of business.  I have no time for small-time charlatans peddling outrageous fairy tales.”  He got up and motioned for the man to leave.  “If your proposal is based on a fanciful lie of you being the rightful king of Westeros, please leave now,” he growled, “before I have my guards drag you out and throw you onto the street.”

The stranger glared at Petyr.  It seemed like the young man was shocked that Lord Baelish refused to believe him.  “How dare you!” he snapped.  “I am your rightful king.”

“My dear Aegon,” Petyr replied pointedly, “even if you are who you say you are, we are currently in Braavos, not Westeros, and last I checked the duly anointed rulers of Westeros are Jaeherys and Daenerys Targaryen.”  He grimaced slightly as he mentioned his hated nemesis’ name.  Petyr then walked toward the study door and motioned for his unwanted guest to leave.  “Now if that is all, I am a very busy man.”

The stranger’s face fell as it became clear that Petyr wasn’t about to be ordered around by him.  “Wait,” he stated pleadingly.  “Perhaps I can provide you with proof.”  He pulled a sealed parchment out of a satchel he had placed on the ground and handed it to Petyr.  “That is a document attesting to my identity as Aegon Targaryen.  It was witnessed by the Sealord himself.”

Petyr pursed his lips and began to examine the document.  It did contain what appeared to be the authentic signature and seal of the late Ferrego Antaryon.  The two other seals on the document were even more intriguing – those of Jon Connington and Oberyn Martell.  While Petyr still doubted the stranger was who he said he was, the document made the young man’s story at least seem believable.  _Perhaps I can use him as a pawn to sow chaos across the Narrow Sea,_ he mused as he continued to examine the document.

The stranger’s smug smile returned as he watched Petyr examine the parchment.  “So My Lord Baelish, you believe me now,” he observed confidently.

“No, My Lord,” Petyr replied as he sat back down in his chair and handed the parchment back to the stranger.  “I am a cautious man by my very nature.  People lie in documents, even documents signed by the Sealord of Braavos, and any good businessman is aware of such frauds.  However, this document is intriguing enough to me that I will allow you to explain yourself further rather than having my guards escort you to the streets.  Perhaps if I find it credible, I will agree to help you with whatever you want.”

His guest glared at him silently.

“It is your choice, My Lord,” Petyr stated plainly.  “Provide me with a compelling reason why I should believe you are the rightful king of Westeros or you can enjoy the hospitality of my guards.”

The man continued to glare at Petyr but he began talking.  “I was raised by Jon Connington.  He told me when I was seven that I was the rightful heir to the Throne of Westeros and he raised me to avenge my family and to rule as a good and just king.  He said that our allies, especially the Martells, would help us when the time came.  However, Lord Connington died of grey plague when I was eighteen before our plans were finalized and I had to learn to fend for myself.  I have made a living first as a sellsword and then trading slaves in the underground markets.”  He sighed and took a long sip of wine.  “I have heard that the son of that Northern slut who seduced my father was crowned king while I toil away here in Essos.”  He spat out the last bit with a great deal of passion and contempt toward Jaeherys Targaryen.

Petyr smiled broadly as he watched hatred emanate from his guest’s body.  He doubted that the man sitting across the table was really Aegon Targaryen, but the stranger did seem to truly believe that he was the rightful King of Westeros.  And more importantly, it seemed like he hated Jaeherys Targaryen as much as Petyr did.  That twin delusion and contempt would make this Aegon character a useful pawn.   He looked at his guest and bowed respectfully to him.  “My King, I am sorry for my suspicion of you.  You are the rightful king of Westeros.  Will you forgive a poor servant his impertinence?” he asked with a simpering voice.

Aegon smiled arrogantly.  “If My Lord Baelish gives me what I want, I will,” he ordered blandly.

Petyr continued to smirk.  _What a gullible fool_ , he thought but he continued to play on Aegon’s ego, bowing his head in a subservient stance with his eyes focused on the ground.  “And what does His Majesty want?” he asked solemnly.

“I want my throne,” Aegon snapped.  “I heard that you had contacts high within the Iron Bank that can provide me money for the sellswords I need to take what was rightfully mine.  I’d like the Golden Company.  I heard they were the best.”

“I heard that as well, Your Grace,” Petyr replied.  “However, the Iron Bank won’t lend you money as long as Daenerys Targaryen possesses three dragons which can be used to burn any sellsword armies to a crisp.  The Bank is quite protective of its investments like that.”

Aegon’s eyes filled with fury at that suggestion.  “I am the rightful King of Westeros.”

Petyr smiled slightly.  “The Iron Bank doesn’t care, Your Grace,” he replied calmly.  “They might not like the King and Queen of Westeros.  In fact, I have heard the bankers curse Daenerys Targaryen for disrupting the slave trade in the south of the continent and mock Jaeherys Targaryen as a Northern country bumpkin.  However, the Crown of Westeros always pays its loans in a timely manner and money is what matters to the Iron Bank.  Right now, you are too risky an investment.”

“I should destroy the Iron Bank,” Aegon snapped as he placed his glass of wine on the table with a loud thud.

“I admire your spirit, My King,” Petyr replied simperingly.  “But perhaps destroying the dragons would be more practical.  I have some contacts in the Citadel that may help us.  I also know from my sources in Westeros that Dorne remains unsettled.  Lady Ellaria Sand and her daughters will be willing to help us, especially once they see Prince Oberyn’s seal.”

The young man smiled widely.  “I am glad to have you as my adviser.  We will go tomorrow and propose your terms to the Iron Bank.”

“I didn’t agree to help you with the Iron Bank yet, My King,” Petyr stated cautiously.

“But you acknowledged me as your king,” Aegon stated.

“Indeed, I did, Your Grace,” Petyr acknowledged.  “However, I still have some demands in return.”

“I will restore you to your old positions, My Lord Baelish,” Aegon replied snidely.  “What more can you want?”

“The Riverlands are hard to defend, Your Majesty,” Petyr stated coolly.  “I want the Reach instead.  I want to be Hand of the King.”  He smirked as he thought about his last demand.  “And I want Sansa Stark as my wife.”

“Sansa Stark is a traitor to the true King of Westeros.  I understand that she has done quite a bit to stabilize Jaeherys and Daenerys Targaryen’s rule.  She must be executed along with her siblings and her cousin,” Aegon commented darkly.

“Do whatever you want with the rest of them, My King, but Sansa is mine,” Petyr snapped.  He smiled knowingly as he looked at the angry young man in front of him.  “You may be the rightful king, Your Grace.  But in Essos you are nothing, a fact of which you are well aware.  You need me more than I need you.  You will agree to all my terms including the last one.”

Aegon frowned.  “Fine,” he finally stated curtly, “I agree to your terms.”

Lord Baelish continued to smile broadly.  “I knew that you were a wise man, Your Grace,” he stated, massaging the young man's considerable ego.  Petyr got up from his chair and went to pour two more glasses of wine.  “Let us toast our partnership, My King,” he said after offering his guest a glass of wine and raising his own glass.

“Indeed, I will have what is mine,” the young man continued to smile happily as he raised his glass and took a sip.

 _Yes, indeed you will_ , Petyr thought.  _I will use you to vanquish my enemies and then destroy you_.  He imagined himself on a newly forged Iron Throne with the horrid Jaeherys Targaryen kneeling before him and pleading for his life.  _Perhaps I should force him to watch his children murdered and his Dragon bitch wife raped in front of him before I kill him_ , he commented to himself contently as he took a long sip of Braavosi red and stared at the idiot pawn seated across from him.  Petyr would finally get the vengeance owed him, but of course, he always knew this day would come.  Fate was, after all, a fickle lover.  Those with patience would always win in the end even against those favored by the gods.  And Petyr Baelish was a very patient man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going with the Aegon is a Blackfrye and a Viserys 2.0 type. Aegon in the books struck me as a brat and I could easily seeing him morphing into Viserys especially if Connington dies.


	2. Arya I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya Stark finds herself in an embarrassing situation and Tyrion and Arya fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next set of chapters take place in King's Landing. There are a few cute and light moments in them but there is also an underlying sense of unease. What happens when the war is won and the soldiers have to adjust to civilian life? What does someone like Arya do when she no longer has her list? What does Jon do when he is dealing with the monotony of ruling? It is really based on Martin's comments on Aragorn and what happens after the war.

Arya Stark woke up with a blinding headache.  She pulled herself from her bed and grabbed the clothes she had discarded on the floor the night before.  _Gods,_ she grumbled to herself.  _How late is it?  If I miss another of these blasted ceremonies, I will never hear the end of it from Tyrion._ She groaned at the thought of having to endure another lecture from the Hand of the Crown.  Lord Tyrion wasn’t shy about expressing his displeasure with Arya’s inclusion on the Small Council and she knew that the Queen tended to agree with Tyrion’s assessment of the situation.  _Best not give Tyrion any more fuel to add to the fire_ , she thought as she pulled on her linen shirt and massaged her pounding head.

She sharply nudged the naked figure on the left side of the bed.  “You have to get up now,” she stated rousing the man from his sleep.

“What the seven hells?” the knight – or was he only a squire - replied sleepily.

“I have to attend the official ceremonies,” she stated frantically as she pulled on her trousers.  “You should leave now before anyone notices you.”

The knight nodded silently and began to quickly dress.  As the pair scurried about, there was a sharp rap on the door of her outer chambers.  “Arya, please open the door,” a gruff Northern voice commanded coolly.

“Gods,” Arya cursed as she finished pulling on her boots.

“What is wrong?” the young knight asked.

“It is my brother,” she groaned.  “He is probably coming to make sure that I show up at the blasted official ceremonies on time.”

“I thought that Bran was still in Winterfell,” the man inquired confusedly.

“Not Bran,” Arya snapped.  “It’s Jon.”

“Jon?” the young man asked.  “You mean the King?”  He turned beet red and looked around the plush interior of the bedroom uncomfortably.

“Aye,” Arya replied sharply as she ran through the solar and toward the door.  “And he probably knows that you are here, so it would be best if you didn’t try to hide.”

Her brother stood outside her doors impatiently.  In contrast with Arya’s disheveled appearance, Jon looked like the monarch he was.  Even the ornate golden circlet that he hated so much had been placed firmly on his head.  “The presence of the Mistress of War and of Ships is requested at the official ceremonies commemorating the victory in the Battle for Dawn.  I thought I’d come and remind you about your duties as you were out quite late last night,” Jon stated firmly as he entered Arya’s rooms.  Her brother pursed his lips disapprovingly as he spied the knight creeping out of his sister’s bedroom.  “And will you please introduce me to your friend, Arya,” the King insisted as he continued to warily eye the young man.

“This is Ser…” Arya began but the man’s name eluded her.

“Ser Ryman Tyrell, My King,” the young knight finished.  “I am the youngest son of the late Lord Mace Tyrell’s second cousin.”  He sank to his knees in the presence of the King.

Jon grimaced slightly at Ser Ryman’s display of fealty and readjusted the crown that Arya knew was probably weighing heavily on his head.  “Please rise,” the King ordered blandly.

“Your Grace,” Ryman Tyrell rose to his feet and bowed deeply again.  “Your sister is... err... quite a remarkable woman.”

The King frowned at the young knight.  “Indeed she is,” he commented gravely.

An awkward silence filled the room.  “I will be going then, My King,” Ser Ryman replied finally.  He bowed deeply once more and began to leave the room.

Jon continued to eye the Tyrell knight as he walked quickly through Arya’s solar and past the guards stationed in the hall outside.  “Oh and Ser Ryman,” her brother stated offhandedly as the knight scurried down the hall.  “You won’t be bragging about sleeping with Princess Arya, will you now?”  Jon emphasized his sister’s official title to remind Ser Ryman Tyrell exactly who Arya was.

“Of course not, My King,” the young knight mumbled almost incoherently as he continued down the hallway.

Arya frowned at her brother as she watched Ser Ryman Tyrell leave the royal apartments.  “Why did you do that?” she whispered sharply.

“It is my prerogative as an older brother,” Jon replied sheepishly.  He looked at his feet uncomfortably.  “You are a grown woman and I don’t... er... mean to pry, but you need to be careful,” he continued.  “People are beginning to talk.”

Arya rolled her eyes.  “I don’t care what the prudish septons or the gossipy ladies of the Court think,” she commented.

“And Lord Tyrion?” the King added.

“The Hand of the King spends quite a bit of time in brothels so I fail to see why I should care what he thinks about my sex life,” Arya grumbled. 

Jon sighed, “Arya, you are well aware that noblemen and noblewomen are held to different standards.”  He looked at his feet.  “I won’t order you to do anything.  Just be careful.”

“I always am,” she insisted as she walked into her dressing room and began throwing water on her face.

“Aye,” the King replied dropping the subject that was clearly making him uncomfortable.  “Our escort is leaving for the Great Sept in a half hour,” her brother explained.  “I expect you in the Great Hall by then.”

“Of course,” Arya stated nochalantly as she continued to prepare.

“I mean it, Arya,” her brother insisted firmly as he turned to leave.  “If I have to endure these damn ceremonies, then you do as well.”

Arya groaned and continued hurriedly preparing herself for what she knew would be a dreadfully boring day.

 

* * *

 

The unfinished tower of the rebuilt Great Sept loomed in the background as the royal entourage made its way through the streets of King’s Landing back toward the Red Keep.  Arya sat uncomfortably in an open carriage next to Tyrion Lannister.  She awkwardly tugged on her grey tunic covered with embroidered white and grey direwolves and then went back to staring out the sides of the carriage.  It was bad enough to have to endure a long boring service praising gods that she didn’t believe in, but to have to endure an uncomfortable carriage ride back to the Red Keep with Lord Tyrion as well was more than Arya could handle.  _What did I do to deserve such punishment?_ she grumbled silently even though Arya knew that the carriage arrangements probably weren’t meant as punishment but rather as an unsubtle attempt by Jon to broker a détente between his two most trusted advisors.  _Blasted politics_ , she thought as she eyed Tyrion warily.  The Hand of the King looked at her disapprovingly like he always did.

Arya frowned at Tyrion and went back to peering out the carriage’s sides.  She craned her neck back to glance at the carriage carrying the royal family and smirked.  At least Jon seemed to be enjoying the celebration even less than she was.  Her brother had on what Arya liked to call his “king face” and was dutifully nodding and waving to the cheering crowd along with Queen Daenerys, but she knew him well enough to see the discomfort subtly etched on his face.  _Jon will be crankier than Little Ned is when he refuses to take a nap by this evening_ , Arya observed silently.  Of everything that her brother complained about with regards to being king, the pomp of official ceremonies seemed to annoy him the most.  Jon hated the false flattery and exaggerated praise he had to endure during such celebrations, and the celebration commemorating what bards had begun referring to as the Victory of the Dragons brought out such flattery and praise in droves.  _Perhaps I should request the bards sing about the Battle for Winterfell at the feast tonight_ , Arya thought mischievously.  _Of all the songs exaggerating his valiant exploits, Jon seems to hate that one the most._   She smirked again as she stared at her brother and carefully planned her revenge.  It would be a fitting punishment for Jon barging into her rooms this morning and forcing her to share a carriage with Lord Tyrion.

“You seem happy, Lady Arya,” Tyrion commented as he eyed her wearily.  “You must be pleased that your brother seems to be adored by his people.  Or perhaps it is something more personal?  A young man has caught your eye perhaps?”

Arya grimaced and turned toward Tyrion.  “Ser Ryman was just a bit of fun,” she explained.

“Your bits of fun are causing scandal in the Court,” Tyrion replied sharply.   “Is it too much to ask you to not whore and drink like a common soldier on the eve of such an important occasion?”

Arya seethed at Tyrion’s self-righteous comments; she was getting tired of the man’s hypocrisy.  “How are the women at the Inn of the Seven Sighs faring, My Lord Hand?” she snapped.  “I heard you remain a regular patron there.”

Tyrion sighed.  “Lady Arya, I am not trying to lecture you about morality.  Goodness knows that I am far from a pious man.  However, you are the King’s sister, not some serving wench, and you have to keep up certain appearances.”  The King’s Hand glanced back at the carriage carrying the royal family.  “Your brother’s rule is still unsettled.  You are a smart woman; I know that you are aware of the murmurs of discontent among some nobles about the Northern King and foreign Queen.  Your antics undermine Jon further.  All I am asking you to exercise some decorum and discretion in support of him.”

“And what gives you the right to lecture me on this?” Arya snapped.

“Someone has to and Jon refuses to do so,” the Hand stated calmly.

“Well, maybe someone should mention that the Hand of the King is a lecherous drunk who killed his own father.  Perhaps it is you who are undermining Jon, not I,” Arya growled.  She jumped from the carriage that had just halted in front of the Red Keep and stormed off.

“Arya,” Jon’s gruff voice called after her as she wandered through the maze of passageways and sat down in a dark corner.  “Arya, are you going to sulk like that?”

Arya looked up at Jon.  “Why did you make me ride in a carriage with that horrible man?” she yelled at her brother.

Jon nodded for his guards to give them some space and sat next to Arya.  “Is it too much for me to want a bit of peace between my two most important advisors?” he asked kindly.  “I need both of you.”  He mussed her hair as he had done frequently when they were children but no longer did now that they were both grown.

“I am tired of Lord Tyrion’s derision,” Arya whispered.  “I hate that man.”

“Aye,” the King concurred.  “Tyrion can be a difficult man – sarcastic, selfish, and ruthless.  But he knows politics and statecraft and his points on such matters generally have merit.”

Arya frowned slightly.  She hated when Jon lectured her in his practical king mode. 

Jon squeezed her shoulder and rose from the ground.  “Arya, I hate this cesspool as much as you do,” he reassured her gently as he rose and smoothed out his red and black cloak.  “But if me ruling here as king protects my family and the North, it is a sacrifice I’m willing to make.  I expect you to make sacrifices as well.”  He offered Arya a hand and helped her off the ground.  “Come now,” the King observed wryly.  “I have to spend a boring afternoon listening to courtiers, most of whom are probably conspiring against me, toast my gallantry.  I don’t think I will be able to get through it without you.”

Arya nodded slightly and allowed her brother to lead her back to the Red Keep.  She knew that she should feel comforted like everyone else on this day of celebration.  But she felt more uneasy and on edge in this dangerous place where she didn’t fit in.  The war had been over for three years but Arya Stark still didn’t feel at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Tyrion is definitely being a jerk. But Tyrion has a tendency to be a blunt jerk. I am going with Tyrion being Tywin 2.0. Both Jon and Daenerys are aware that Tyrion is a pretty ruthless jerk but he is also committed to securing Targaryen rule. Tywin is an asset when he is on your side.
> 
> However, Tyrion is also right about Arya. I am going with a traditional Court. As you will see, Jon and Daenerys both play pious believers in the Seven because of politics. The King's sister openly drinking and whoring like a man would be scandalous to the Faith and the Court. Jon is caught in a real bind. He is incredibly indulgent toward his siblings, especially his Arya. However, he is also willing to co-opt the Faith for his own purposes and Arya's behavior really hurts him with that.


	3. Jon I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys comes up with a plan to lessen Jon's homesickness

Jon dreamt of the North that night as he was wont to do when something troubled him.  He roamed as one with Ghost and the wolfpack in the dark godswood and waded through the cool melting snow in search of prey.  It was liberating to run through the Northern woods with the cool winds nudging his face.

He woke as he always did from his wolf dreams with a sudden jolt and a cold sweat.  Dreaming of the North made him feel uneasy rather than rested as if he was missing part of himself.  Jon yawned a bit as he wiped the sleep from his eyes and pulled his body up into a sitting position in the cavernous canopied featherbed in his bedroom in the Red Keep.  Sunlight streamed through the enormous bay windows.  _It must be nearly mid morn_ , he thought as he got up and quickly pulled on a linen undershirt.  _I should have been in the Great Hall hearing petitions over an hour ago._

Jon groaned at the prospect of another tedious day spent listening to the citizens of Westeros gripe about onion taxes and pig farms and minor land disputes.  Each time he complained to Dany, she gently reassured him that it would become easier with time.  But it had been over three years and the crown still weighed heavily on his head and his worries and doubts had become more numerous, not less.  Most of all he missed the North – the snows and the godswood and Ghost and Winterfell.  He thought of the North and Winterfell and of Ghost and Bran and Sansa often as he remained stuck in his luxurious prison in King’s Landing.

There was a slight rap on the door as Jon prepared himself for the day.  “Come in,” Jon ordered.  He walked from his dressing room and into his large solar to open the door.  However, the door creaked wide open before the King could reach it and a familiar pair of tiny feet pattered across the floor.

“Papa!” chirped Ned happily as he raced through the solar and into Jon’s arms.

Jon smiled widely as his scooped his son up in his arms and began tickling him, mussing his curly brown hair, and planting kisses on his head much to Ned’s delight.  Cecily entered carrying nine-month-old Rhaella in her arms.  “I am sorry, My King,” the nursemaid stated apologetically.  “Her Majesty said that you had had quite a bit of trouble sleeping last night and weren’t to be disturbed from your rest this morning, but the Crown Prince insisted.”

“My children are never a disturbance, Cecily,” Jon reassured the servant as he twirled Ned in his arms and reached over to kiss his baby girl on her head.  _In fact, they are the only things that make this prison bearable,_ he added silently.  He sank down in a chair on the far side of his solar with his son wrapped safely in his arms and motioned for the nursemaid to set Rhaella on his lap as well.  “So what adventures have you had already this morning, Ned?” he whispered.

“There are bugs outside!” his son informed him excitedly, “and worms!”

Cecily pursed her lips, “And dirt as well.  I am sorry to inform Your Majesty that it took quite a while clean off the Crown Prince from his adventures.  He even got Princess Rhaella dirty.”

“That is quite fine,” Jon replied mischievously.  “Children ought to be dirty.”

“Not princes and princesses,” the nursemaid observed severely.

“It is the King’s humble opinion that even princes and princesses ought to be dirty,” Jon disagreed calmly as he cuddled his children in his arms.  He frowned slightly at Cecily’s pronouncement.  He knew the children’s nursemaid meant well but he didn’t like that Ned and Rhae had to grow up in such a bubble.  _My children ought to be able to run and play freely like we did as children in Winterfell rather than being closely guarded and managed_ _as they are here in the Red Keep_ , he thought as he alternated between mussing Ned’s brown head and Rhae’s silvery one.  _I should speak with Dany about finding Ned some companions to play with - children in the Court or even the children of servants.  They are perhaps young enough that they may not be intimidated by the Crown Prince._ He rocked his children once more before handing the sleeping Rhaella back to Cecily and gently placing Ned on the ground.

“Papa!” his son whimpered and clung to Jon’s leg.

“I’m sorry, my sweet boy,” Jon apologized and mussed his son’s mop of brown curls.  “Papa has to get ready.  He is already quite late for Court.”  He gave Ned one last kiss.  “Now go back to Cecily.  Papa promises to come visit you later today.”

Ned toddled reluctantly over to his nursemaid and allowed her to lead him out the door.

Jon sighed wistfully as he watched his children leave and continued to prepare for Court.  He adjusted the dragon and wolf pin that held his cloak in place and placed his crown on his brow.  When he was finally finished, the King walked through the door and nodded silent greetings to the men guarding it.

“Your Grace,” Harrion acknowledged Jon with a deep bow.  “I didn’t fancy seeing you dressed for Court this morning.  The Queen stated that you were getting some much-needed rest and ordered the servants and guards not to bother you.”

“Kings don’t have the luxury of such rest,” Jon sighed morosely.  “Come then,” he nodded to his guards to follow him to the Great Hall.

When he arrived at the entrance to the Great Hall, Jon noticed Court was already well into the session.  The Queen sat on her ornate wooden throne stoically as she listened to the petitioner kneeling in front of her, a golden crown similar to his glistening in her silver hair.  He crept in through the shadows in the back of the Hall as discreetly as he could and tried to silently catch his wife’s eye.

She furrowed her brows slightly when she saw him and motioned for the petitioner laying out his case to her to stop.  “It appears that the King has decided to attend Court today,” Dany mentioned offhandedly in the stately voice she used when she was ruling from the Throne.  She continued to stare at her husband disapprovingly.

“Aye, My Queen,” Jon stated as he ignored his wife’s frown and confidently strode to the front of the Great Hall and up the dais, the expression that Arya teasingly referred to as his “king face” firmly planted on his face.  “I couldn’t leave you to deal with the tedium of hearing petitions alone,” he whispered in her ear when he finally reached the dais and its twin thrones.

“You have been sleeping restlessly the past few weeks, My King,” Dany whispered worriedly as Jon sat on the throne next to hers.  “You should be resting.  I told the servants not to disturb you.”

“Ah, you shouldn’t have,” Jon insisted quietly as he gave his wife a kiss on the cheek.  “Duty comes first.”

Daenerys frowned at him once more before motioning for the petitioner to continue.  Jon knew that it hadn’t heard the end of this.  His wife would likely scold him for overworking himself once they were alone in their private quarters.

“As I was telling the Queen before Your Majesty entered, the tax on onions and potatoes levied by Lord Tarly is too high,” the petitioner repeated himself.

Jon groaned silently and readjusted his crown as he braced for another day of the monotony of ruling.

After the last petitioner knelt before the Crown and had his case judged, Jon grabbed Dany’s hand and rose to the cheers of the crowd.  “All hail our king and queen,” the courtiers shouted as Jon and Dany walked down from the dais together, their gold crowns glistening in the midday sun.  They looked like picture perfect young monarchs ushering in Westeros’ golden age as they walked through the Great Hall.

 _All of it is but a fragile façade_ , he thought as he walked alongside his wife.  Jon played the part he knew he had to and smiled and nodded to the crowd as he walked from the Great Hall.  _This is for my family and for the North_ , he reminded himself not for the first time or the last.

When he and his wife finally entered their apartments, Jon dropped down into a chair and removed his crown.  Sleep deprivation came crashing down on him as he yawned and his eyelids drooped.

Dany frowned.  “You should have remained in bed this morning,” she scolded him gently.  “You are in no condition to deal with matters of state.”

“I thought that I put on quite a good show in Court today, Dany,” Jon pointed out wearily.  He picked up a stack of parchments on a table and began reading the top one.  “I cannot neglect my duties.”

“You do neither Westeros nor your family any good if you are tired and distracted.  You are working yourself into an early grave,” Dany snapped as she grabbed the parchment out of his hand.  “You must rest, Jon, or you will be no good to anyone.”

“Dany, I’d prefer not,” Jon whispered.  “I am constantly reminded of the North, of what I abandoned every time I fall asleep.”

“You are Rhaegar Targaryen’s son, Jon.  You didn’t abandon anything.  You found out who you were,” Dany argued.

Jon cringed.  _I am Ned Stark’s son_ , he thought, _not Rhaegar Targaryen’s_.  However, he knew that his wife would never understand that, not really, even though she tried to.  “Dany, I am first and foremost a son of the North,” he explained.  “I will always belong there, not here in King’s Landing.  Wearing that damn crown and being proclaimed as Jaeherys Targaryen won’t change that.”  He slumped over in his chair and began massaging his tense forehead.

His wife’s terse expression softened and she placed her hand on his shoulder.  “It will become easier with time,” she whispered.  “You will become used to all this.”

“You keep saying that,” Jon stated sadly, “and it never gets easier.”

“Perhaps if you didn’t overwork yourself, you wouldn’t feel your crown is such a burden,” Dany replied pointedly.  She placed the stack of parchments on the table out of his reach.  “You need some rest, My King,” she ordered firmly.

Jon rose from his seat and walked toward the window.  He looked out over the expansive view of the city.  The white spires looked so beautiful and serene from his vantage point in the high tower of the Red Keep.  He wished that he could feel at home here, at peace with Daenerys and his children.  However, he knew that he would always feel restless in King’s Landing and long for the North.

Dany walked up next to him and grabbed his hand in hers.  “The inaugural session for the Crown’s Council opens in less than a month.”

Jon looked at his wife and groaned.   “If you are trying to make me feel better, Dany, you have an odd way of going about it.  I am dreading all the damn ceremonies and feasts that I am going to have to deal with once the Council begins.”

His wife squeezed his hand tighter.  “I was just thinking that Sansa and Bran and a delegation of Northern lords will be coming to the capital.  Perhaps we can travel to Winterfell with them after the Council ends.  Sansa is doing a fine job ruling the North in your name but your Northern subjects need to see their king again.”

Jon smiled brightly at the thought of seeing the North again.  However, his smile was soon tempered as he turned to his wife.  “Are you well enough to travel, Dany?” he whispered.

“Aye,” she replied reassuring him.  “It’s been over nine months since Rhaella’s birth.”

Jon frowned slightly.  He didn’t like his wife’s blasé reference to her difficult pregnancies.  “You nearly died, Dany,” he reminded her.

“But I didn’t,” she replied calmly, “and our daughter is fine.”  She caressed his face softly.  “Why are you being difficult about this, Jon?” she asked.  “You told me that you missed the North to the point you are having nightmares about it.  You wish to return to Winterfell and we shall.”

Jon turned away from the windows and smiled softly.  “It isn’t that simple.  You know that there are political complications in King’s Landing that may make such a visit unwise.  Not to mention the fact that Sansa has written about some disquiet in the North; some of the lords are grumbling about being ruled by Targaryens once again.  A royal visit may not be greeted with the enthusiasm you think it will be.”

“You will go there as the North’s duly appointed king, not as a foreign conqueror,” she kissed his cheek softly.  “You worry too much, My King.  Our subjects adore you; they adore us.”

Jon nodded silently and walked away from the windows.

“Good,” his wife said.  “Now that that is settled, you should rest.”  She gently removed his cloak from his shoulders and began unbuttoning his tunic.

He kissed her firmly on her lips.  “Only if you plan to come with me, My Queen,” he whispered as he grabbed her hand and led her into their bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not get accustomed to Daenerys as some sort of docile and loving wife. That is not who Dany is.
> 
> And I hope everyone liked Jon with his babies. I could definitely see a situation like Victoria and Albert where daddy is the one who cares for the children.


	4. Tyrion I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion hears about the planned visit to the North and Varys warns the Hand of the return of an old enemy.

The Hand of the King and Queen walked through the gardens of the Red Keep.  The gardens were blooming with summer flowers as they had for the past few years during the middle months of the year.  The changing seasons and new weather patterns had taken a bit of getting used to during that first chaotic year after the Night King had been defeated.  However, in the two years that followed, Tyrion had come to appreciate the predictability of the changing seasons.  The cold winter now always melted into a warm and gentle spring followed by the hot summer and the bountiful harvest of autumn.  He only wished that the court had become as predictable and regular as the seasons.  But that, of course, would never happen.  Unlike the natural rhythms of nature, the politics of King’s Landing were still unpredictable and dangerous and the Targaryens' rule remained unsettled.  So their Hand walked through the gardens of the Red Keep observing the nobles as the complained and plotted and watching for any threats against his sworn monarchs.

“My Lord Hand,” a shrill Westerlands voice interrupted Tyrion’s thoughts.

 _Gods no_ , Tyrion thought as he stared at the trio of women standing in front of him.  _Having to deal with Lady Sybell is more than enough to ruin my day._ Talking with that disingenuous social climber always made Tyrion particularly irritable.  “My Lady Sybell,” Tyrion nodded politely as he tried to hide his disdain for the woman standing in front of him.  “It is always a pleasure to see you and your beautiful daughters at Court.”

“Especially on this beautiful summer day,” Lady Sybell commented as she motioned for Elena to come forward and positioned her as close to Tyrion as she could.

Tyrion stepped aside to avoid touching Elena’s breasts.  “Indeed, it is quite beautiful out, My Lady Sybell,” he agreed blandly.  He looked over at Jeyne who was heavily pregnant with her third child.  “You must be very proud that Ser Patrek was chosen for the Crown’s Council.”

“Aye, My Lord,” Jeyne replied.  “I am.”

“Jeyne is a credit to her husband,” Sybell mentioned.  “And her sister, Elena, a beautiful and accomplished girl, is yet unmarried.”

“My Lord,” Elena replied sweetly as she curtsied.

“Indeed,” Tyrion replied.  “I shall pray to the gods for you to make a good match.”

“Perhaps we should pray as well that our dear Lord Hand find a suitable wife,” the Lady of the Crag stated.  “It would be a pity if the Lannister line died out.”

“My duties make it near impossible for me to think about marriage,” Tyrion stated curtly.

“A pity, My Lord,” Lady Spicer observed simperingly.  “Perhaps you can make time to dine with us during the Council.”  She stepped in front of Tyrion and blocked his path as she waited expectantly for an answer.

“Lord Tyrion, could I have a word please?” a voice stated behind him.  Daenerys walked up to him with an entourage of guards and servants.  She was carrying Princess Rhaella on her hip.  The baby was happily clapping and gurgling in her mother’s arms.

“My Queen,” Sybell stated meekly as she curtsied along with her daughters.  “We are happy that both you and the princess are well.”

“Lady Sybell,” Daenerys replied pleasantly.  “I am sorry to intrude on your conversation but I must have a word with Lord Tyrion.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Sybell curtsied again and motioned for her daughters to leave.  “My invitation to dine with us still stands, My Lord Hand,” she stated pointedly to Tyrion before leaving.

“Your timing is impeccable, Your Grace,” Tyrion whispered as he watched the Westerlings leave.  “Sybell Spicer has been throwing Elena at me since the Westerlings arrived for the Council.”

“Elena Westerling seems to be a sweet girl, Lord Tyrion,” Dany observed as she shifted Rhaella on her hip.  “Would it be so awful to marry her?”

“Imagine having Lady Spicer as your goodmother,” he observed drolly.

Dany smiled knowingly.  “Perhaps we should award Patrek Mallister a medal for his bravery.”

“So what did you wish to ask me, My Queen?” Tyrion stated.  “You didn’t come here just to rescue me from the grips of shrill social climbers.”

“The King wishes to visit Winterfell after the Council closes,” the Queen replied as she kissed Rhaella’s silvery head.  “Please make the appropriate plans, Lord Tyrion.  We shall announce our intentions next week before the opening of the first session of the Crown Council.”

“Is that wise, My Queen?” Tyrion frowned.  “Your health is still frail from Princess Rhaella’s birth and things here in King’s Landing are still unsettled.  There are many plots afoot now with the nobles in King’s Landing for the Council. ”

“The Crown Council will give the nobles some influence over the affairs of Westeros in a way that will prevent any such treasons,” Daenerys replied coolly, “and the King and I trust you and Lord Varys to ferret out any lords who wish to continue to plot against the Crown despite our magnanimous gesture in sharing power with them.  We shall be quite able to travel to Winterfell as planned after the Council.”

“My Queen, I am honored by your trust in me,” Tyrion argued pointedly.   “And I ask you and the King to accept my advice and remain in King’s Landing.  Travelling from the capital when your rule is still unstable is not prudent.”

Daenerys handed her daughter off to a nursemaid and glared at Tyrion.  “The King and I have made a decision on this already, My Lord.  I am just informing you of it,” she snapped.  Her face, however, soon softened as she noticed the concern etched on Tyrion’s face.  “I know that it may seem inadvisable to you, but I am worried about Jon.  He has been more restless and morose than usual and he has been having nightmares about the North.  Leaving the capital and returning to Winterfell would do him much good,” the Queen explained softly.

Tyrion rolled his eyes.  He didn’t understand why Jon hated being king so much.  Most people, including Tyrion himself, would love to have the power that Jon now wielded.  However, Daenerys was right about her husband’s mental state.  The King was tired and irritable as of late and his moods were beginning to affect his health and his decisions.  Tyrion sighed.  “I still think that the idea is unwise politically but something must be done before Jon’s moods cause him or Westeros harm.  Perhaps traveling to the North will improve his disposition although I am not sure that a formal visit to Winterfell by the King and Queen of Westeros will provide Jon with the peace that you both suspect it will.”

“I doubt that it will, My Lord Hand,” the Queen agreed.  “Jon no longer belongs in the North and he must come to terms with that fact.  He is a Targaryen king, my Targaryen king.  Visiting Winterfell will help him understand that things have changed and that King’s Landing is now his home.  He will become more settled as king once he accepts that there is no turning back to the past.”

“Or even more unhappy,” Tyrion grumbled.  “Your Grace, this is a big gamble that you are taking.  Things may go awry and Jon may end up resenting his kingship even more.”

“Jon cannot go on as he is,” Daenerys argued.  “This is the only way.”

“It is your decision, Your Majesty,” he conceded disapprovingly.

“You disapprove,” the Queen observed pointedly.

“Truthfully, I do, Your Grace,” Tyrion stated.

“I appreciate your honest advice, My Lord, but we will be leaving for Winterfell after the Council,” she ordered.  “Make the necessary arrangements.”  The Queen then turned back to the Red Keep followed by her entourage.

“Your Grace,” Tyrion stated solemnly with a slight nod.  He pursed his lips as he watched the Queen leave.

“Bad tidings, Lord Tyrion,” Varys asked as he came upon Tyrion watching the Queen enter the Red Keep.

“I am sure that you already know about the planned royal visit to Winterfell,” Tyrion replied calmly to the Lord of Whispers as he continued to eye the Queen and her entourage disapprovingly.

“My Lord Tyrion, you think that I would spy on our duly anointed monarchs?  That could be considered treason,” Varys stated with mock horror in his voice.

Tyrion turned from watching the Queen toward Varys and glared at him silently.

The spymaster smiled cryptically.  “Yes, Tyrion, I know about Their Majesties’ plans to visit the North.  Some of the serving girls mentioned the King and Queen talking about it over dinner last night.  I also understand your concern about the Court leaving for Winterfell during this politically sensitive time.  I agree with you.  Things remain volatile here in King’s Landing.”

“It is not just that,” Tyrion observed drolly.  “Daenerys apparently feels that Jon will fully accept his identity as Rhaegar Targaryen’s son and reject the North after the visit.  I doubt that this will happen.  It could lead to major issues between Their Graces.”

“Indeed it could,” Varys pointed out.  “However, we have even more pressing problems than possible tensions between the King and Queen.”

“What has she done now?” Tyrion groaned.  He was getting tired of Arya Stark’s antics.

“Lady Arya?” Varys asked.  “She has been on her best behavior since the recent celebrations.”  The spymaster frowned.  “No, it is an old enemy that concerns me.  My little birds in Braavos have sent me disturbing reports about Petyr Baelish.  He is stirring trouble in Essos.  He has even aligned himself with the Queen’s enemies in Meereen and Volantis.”

“As long as he stays over in Essos, it doesn’t concern me.  Let him profiteer off of war or slavery or whatever he happens to be doing now.  There is enough greed and evil in the world to keep Littlefinger duly occupied and far away from Westeros for the rest of his vile life,” Tyrion argued calmly.

“I wish that was the case, My Lord,” Varys stated, “but you know that revenge is the main motivator for men like Lord Petyr Baelish.  He would like nothing more than to exact that revenge against the people in Westeros who he thinks humiliated him, namely our beloved monarchs.”

Tyrion pursed his lips.  “And this is just your instinct talking, Lord Varys?” he asked curiously.

Varys sighed.  “About ten years ago, I received a report about a teenaged boy claiming to be Aegon Targaryen.  He was sailing around the Free Cities with a man purporting to be Lord Jon Connington.”

“The former Hand?” Tyrion asked.  “I thought he drank himself to death in exile.”

“As did I,” the spymaster agreed.  “I thought the claim to be dubious, but I had my little birds investigate the pair nonetheless.  The boy had traditional Targaryen coloring, but his story did not add up.  He claimed that I had switched him with a peasant child from Flea Bottom, something I most assuredly did not do.  So I dismissed the pair as frauds and went on plotting to restore the Targaryens that I openly knew about to the Throne.  I forgot about the boy until recently when my little birds spotted a man with silver hair and purple eyes in Braavos with Petyr Baelish.  The man claimed to be Aegon Targaryen.”

“And you think that this may be the same one who was with Jon Connington?” Tyrion replied.

“Perhaps,” Varys stated, “or perhaps another.  But it doesn’t matter.  Power resides where people believe it resides.  Right now enough people are willing to kneel before the Mad King’s daughter and Lyanna Stark’s son but what happens in the future.  The next time that there is a plague or a drought or a war the common folk may be more willing to kneel to a usurper who claims to be Aegon Targaryen.”

Tyrion nodded worriedly.  The mob was fickle like that.  “We must warn Their Graces,” he replied urgently as the color drained from his face.  Tyrion Lannister had helped win Jon and Daenerys their crowns and he was damn sure that he would help them keep it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dany can be creepily possessive of Jon at times. She is also quite snobbish about being a Targaryen in general and doesn't get why Jon embrace his identity as a Targaryen.


	5. Sansa I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Bran arrive in King's Landing.

Sansa Stark rode on her grey stallion at the head of the Northern party.  She shuddered as she watched the white towers of King’s Landing appear on the horizon.  Seeing the capital again made her feel disconcerted.  _There are bad omens there_ , she thought as she pulled the reins of her horse and urged the beast forward.

Bran noticed her hesitation.  He urged his own horse to move next to hers.  Ghost ran close behind him.  “It won’t be like the other times you were in King’s Landing,” he reassured her.  “You aren’t a prisoner, Sansa.  We aren’t fleeing the Army of the Dead.  You are arriving at the Court as the duly appointed Princess-Regent of the North.  It is Jon and Daenerys’ Court now.  Remember how happy it was there during the coronation.  I am sure that it will be like that now as well.”

Sansa smiled weakly.  She appreciated her brother’s attempts to reassure her, but despite his supernatural visions, Bran was naïve about politics and human nature.  “Keeping a crown can be more difficult than winning one, Bran.  There will still be political games in the Court even though Jon is king.”  She pursed her lips.  “The Crown Council will lead to more scheming and backstabbing.  Jon and Daenerys should never have created it.”

“It is in the Great Charter,” Bran reminded his sister.  “The King and Queen promised the lords and the people that they would give some of the Crown’s power to them.”  He eyed her disapprovingly.  “Would you have Jon be untrue to his word?  Would you have him become a tyrant?”

“I would have Jon remain alive with a crown on his head,” Sansa replied sharply, “even if he must sometimes act like a tyrant to do so.”

Bran frowned.  “You have reminded me, many times, that men can be the scariest monsters.  Why would you wish for our brother to become one such monster?”

Sansa looked at her brother silently and then urged her horse to continue forward.  Bran didn’t seem to understand that all men and women who chose to play the Game lost part of themselves.  Even those who started as paradigms of virtue eventually had to engage in at least some monster-like acts to maintain their power.   Jon wasn’t immune to the temptations of power.

Bran, however, continued to disagree with her assessment of the situation.  He rode next to her, the frown on his face reminding her of his disapproval of her words.

As they rode toward the gleaming white buildings of King’s Landing, Sansa spotted a small group of riders coming toward them in the distance.  One appeared to be bearing a royal standard with a white direwolf and red dragon.  Sansa’s grim look melted into a wide smile.  “Jon!” she exclaimed happily to her brother.  “It seems like Jon has come to greet us himself!”

However, Sansa’s face soon fell when it became clear that it was just a party of soldiers rather than the King himself.  “The lookouts spotted your party in the distance, Your Highness,” Harrion, the lead captain, explained.  “We are to escort you into the city with full honors.”  The soldier studied Sansa’s disappointed face.  “His Grace wished to come greet you himself, but he is currently meeting with a delegation of merchants from Pentos.  He sends his sincere regrets.”

 _Oh_ , she observed to herself sadly.  _Jon has more important things to than greet his Northern subjects._ She pursed her lips as she thought of the insult that this would cause among the lords.  _They are already on edge about being ruled by a Targaryen.  There have been murmurs and complaints about how the North’s King has forgotten his people, about how he has transformed into just another Targaryen ruler.  Incidents like this will just make ruling the North more difficult._ She would have to confront Jon about this.  _If he has any time for me,_ Sansa griped silently.  She then nodded her assent to the guards and urged her stallion to follow them through the city gates.

After she had been settled in the guest rooms of the Red Keep, Sansa went to the godswood.  She didn’t particularly believe in the gods, old or new, and hadn’t prayed to any since the Great War.  However, the godswood was one of the few places in King’s Landing where she could go and think without the intrigue and political games of the Court swirling around her.  Ghost followed her out to the grove of trees.  Jon’s direwolf appeared to have the same assessment of the capital and the Red Keep as she did.

When she arrived there, Sansa found that the godswood wouldn’t provide the solitude that she wanted.  It was already occupied by the rotund figure of Lord Manderley’s youngest son, Wilhelm.  He smiled when he saw her.  “I thought that you would come to the godswood once you were settled,” Ser Wilhelm explained apologetically.  “I haven’t gotten to speak to you during the last few days, My Lady.”

Sansa smiled gently.  “Affairs of state keep me busy, Ser,” she apologized.

“Perhaps, we can speak now.  There is something in particular that I wish to ask you,” Ser Wilhelm replied nervously.  He inched closer toward her and gently squeezed her hand.

“Indeed, My Lord,” she stated sweetly, urging him to continue through the courtly smile on her face.  Ser Wilhelm had been wooing her for nearly a year and Sansa knew that he would propose marriage any day now.  She was inclined to accept his proposal.   The rotund knight with three chins and a prematurely receding hairline was far from the sort of fairytale prince that Sansa dreamed of marrying as a child, but past events had made the Princess Regent practical.  Ser Wilhelm Manderley was a good man who treated her kindly and more importantly tying House Stark to its wealthiest vassals would do much to stabilize her brother’s rule.

Ser Wilhelm began getting down on one knee.  However, before he could propose, the couple was interrupted by a gruff Northern voice that Sansa had missed hearing for the last three years.  “Sansa,” Jon replied as he rushed toward her followed by a rather large entourage of guards and servants.  Ghost barked happily as he heard his owner’s voice and ran to nuzzle next to the King licking him on the face and knocking him over in the process.  Jon’s guards worriedly ran to their king to help him off the ground, but her brother just waved them off with a laugh and continued to allow Ghost to nuzzle his face.

Sansa ran toward her brother.  Her earlier anger at him melted instantaneously.  Politics could wait for a moment; she was just happy to finally see Jon again, for her family to finally be united once more.  “It is good to see you again, Jon,” Sansa said happily as she gave her brother her right hand and helped him off the ground.

“I am sorry if I interrupted you,” Jon replied as he rose from the ground, his eyes darting over toward Ser Wilhelm.  “Bran said you had gone out to the godswood and I wished to speak with you alone about affairs in the North.”  He glanced back at his guards slightly annoyed.  “Or at least as alone as a king is allowed to be,” he added exasperatedly.

Sansa laughed slightly at her brother’s annoyance with his bodyguards.  It seemed like some things hadn’t changed that much.  The Princess Regent turned to her beau.  “This is Ser Wilhelm Manderley, Your Grace,” she introduced the knight to her brother.

“Indeed,” Jon observed knowingly.

Ser Wilhelm bowed deeply.  “My King, I was hoping to ask Her Highness this question in private, but perhaps now is as good a time as any to ask for your blessing,” he squeezed Sansa’s hand gently.  “I would like for Lady Sansa to be my wife.”

Jon looked at Sansa.  “The Princess Regent is a grown woman.  I will respect her decision,” he said calmly.

“I accept Ser Wilhelm’s proposal,” she replied softly.

Ser Wilhelm kissed her cheek.  “This makes me very happy, My Lady,” the knight stated.

“You will join us for a private dinner tonight, Ser Wilhelm,” the King replied jovially.  “We will announce your engagement to the rest of the family then.”

“My King,” the knight answered with another deep bow.

“My name is Jon, Ser Wilhelm,” the King stated.  “As we are to be brothers soon, you may address me as such.”  He shook the knight’s hand firmly.  “Now if you will excuse me, Ser, I would like to speak with my sister.”

“Your… Jon,” Wilhelm stated with another slight bow and left the godswood.

“So that is your knight in shining armor?” Jon asked her skeptically as the siblings watched Wilhelm Manderley leave.

“I know you are thinking that he isn’t my type, but it is a good political match,” Sansa replied.  “I wrote to you of the difficulties in the North, Jon.  The lords are complaining about the political situation – all of them, Lord Glover, Lady Karstark, and even Lady Mormont.  Last year’s poor harvest didn’t help things.  Tying our family to the Manderleys will hopefully stabilize the situation.”

Jon’s jovial expression melted into a frown.  “I won’t have you become a pawn again, Sansa.  I want you to be happy,” he insisted solemnly.

“I am the duly appointed Regent of the North and the King’s sister.  Accepting a political marriage comes with the territory,” she reassured her brother.  “It is true that I do not love him, but I am fond of him and he treats me kindly.  You yourself married Daenerys Targaryen for politics.  I understand that this is the sort of sacrifice those of us who seek to rule must make to keep our crowns.”

The King remained unpersuaded.  “I understand sacrifice.  Gods know that I’ve been forced to make many,” he replied as he gently looked into her eyes.  “However, let me alone make them.  I want to protect my family from having to make any more sacrifices.”

Sansa pursed her lips.  “It isn’t only your burden to bear, Jon,” she argued forcefully.  “You have entrusted the North to me to rule in your name.  Let me do what I think needs to be done to secure the North for you.”

“Indeed,” the King said as he gently patted her right shoulder.  “You have become quite an astute and practical ruler, Sansa,” he complimented her proudly.  “I am sure that Father would be proud.”

“I hope so,” she whispered sadly.  “I hope against all hopes that there is an afterlife and that Mother and Father and Robb and Rickon are all watching over us proudly.”  A few tears slipped down Sansa’s stately face as she thought about that for a moment.  She doubted that such a fantasy was true.  The fickle gods wouldn’t allow the dead such happiness.  However, Sansa knew that she couldn’t entertain such morose thoughts about the dead now.  She had to be practical about the politics in front of her and provide Jon with the advice that he needed.  She wiped her tears and looked at her brother.  “You wanted to speak to me about matters of state,” she stated calmly, changing the subject.

Jon gave her right arm a reassuring squeeze.  “Indeed, I did,” he told her happily.  “The Court will visit Winterfell at the end of the Crown Council.  I already told Bran and he was excited.”

Sansa pursed her lips.  “Jon, is that wise?  Westeros is still unsettled and a royal visit might be a bad idea given the tensions in the North.”

“I thought the same way you did,” Jon stated.  “However, Daenerys suggested that we should go and that I would help my moods.  I’ve been restless and troubled as of late.  I miss home.”  He gave her a peck on her forehead and his solemn face melted into a happy smile.  “It might turn out for the best.  I can address Northern lords' concerns at Winterfell as their duly elected monarch, and I can give my sister away at her wedding,” he reasoned.

 _So the Queen is insisting on a politically risky trip to Winterfell because she is concerned about her husband’s mental state,_ Sansa thought skeptically.  _That doesn’t sound like Daenerys Targaryen.  She is up to something.  I will need to find out what_.  She continued to frown slightly as she stared at her brother.

“I know that you disapprove of this and that you think Dany has some ulterior motive.  Arya does as well,” Jon observed exasperatedly.

“You should listen to your beloved sisters,” Sansa insisted calmly.

“I thought that you would be happy, Sansa,” Jon whispered sadly.  It seemed like despite the political risks of the trip Jon had his heart set on visiting Winterfell.

Sansa smiled at her brother reassuringly.  She remembered how oppressive the Court could be from her time as a hostage in King's Landing and she wondered if Jon felt as homesick and lost as she did back then.  Jon was a king rather than a hostage like she had been, but perhaps the Red Keep could seem like a prison even for a king.  She gave Jon’s arm a gentle squeeze.  “I am still concerned about the politics of this trip for both King’s Landing and the North and I remain suspicious of your wife’s motivations.  However, your heart seems set on this, Jon, so I will support you in any ways that I can.”

Jon’s eyes lit up and he wrapped her in a huge bear hug.  Ghost barked and nuzzled his nose between the siblings.  They embraced each other for a long moment in happy silence.

“My King,” one of Jon’s guards interrupted the siblings.  “Lord Tyrion and Lord Varys wish to speak to you about an important matter.  They said they would meet you in the Small Council Chambers at your earliest convenience.”

Jon groaned as he put Sansa down and turned toward his guards.  The cares and concerns that had momentarily left his face reappeared.  “Did they say what they needed to speak to me about that was so urgent that it couldn’t wait until the next Council Meeting?” he asked the soldier.

“Something about Lord Petyr Baelish, Your Grace,” the soldier mentioned.  “They didn’t mention the details of it, just that they wished to speak with you about it now before the whirl of activity surrounding the Crown Council began in earnest.”

Sansa looked at her brother.  _Littlefinger?_ she thought.  _Last I heard he fled to Braavos.  He hasn’t caused trouble in Westeros since the Great War.  Why would Tyrion and Varys be concerned about him now?_   Her brow creased with worry and her face paled as she contemplated the return of her old enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see Sansa as Catelyn Stark 2.0. I think that she probably ends up as an astute, practical and slightly cynical politician who is willing to make sacrifices for her family. I could definitely see her accepting the practical political marriage like Cat if she thinks it will help secure the North for her brother. I also wanted to contrast Sansa's more practical approach to Arya's free-spirited one. Arya and Sansa had virtually no scenes with each other in the Wars Yet to Come as I was focused on Jon and his relationship with his sisters. You will still get lots of Jon and his family but I want to focus more on the Starks' relationships with each other as well.
> 
> As for the political situation in the North, it is unsettled. The terms of Jon's marriage to Daenerys gave the North a quasi-independence. However, the lords are still resentful and think they are being given the short shrift compared to the south.


	6. Jon II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Daenerys argue about how to keep their family safe

Jon sat in his usual seat in the Small Council room glaring at Tyrion. "You have known about this for over a week and are only informing me now!" he snapped.  He glanced at his equally livid wife who was seated to his right.  Daenerys nodded her silent agreement with his statement.

Tyrion looked apologetically at his angry monarchs.  "I wanted to verify the information before I told you.  I did not want you to get worked up over rumors," he explained calmly.

"It is my family that is threatened, My Lord Hand," Jon replied furiously.  "I will be as angry as I wish, even about rumors."  He glared at Tyrion again.  "And my advisors will inform me about any threats to the Crown especially personal threats against my wife and children when they first hear of them.  I don't care if it is a thirdhand account about the ramblings of a drunk in Flea Bottom.  I will hear about all these reports and then Daenerys and I will decide if they are credible."

"Jon, you have a tendency to react rashly to threats against your family," Tyrion reminded him gently.

"As is my right as a father and husband," Jon snapped.  "My family will not suffer the brutal deaths that Princess Elia Martell and my half siblings did, not while I am breathing."  He shook with contempt toward his birth father.  Rhaegar Targaryen had abandoned his family to their death and Jon despised the man because of it.  The King promised himself once again that he would protect his family with every fiber of his being unlike Rhaegar.

"We will bury any threat as the Targaryens have always done... with Fire and Blood," Dany suggested menacingly.  "The proper sentence for treason is death by dragonfire.  If Lord Baelish and this Aegon imposter set foot in Westeros, they will be met with such a fiery death."  The Queen smiled slightly, oddly satisfied by the prospect of vanquishing enemies with her dragons.

Jon frowned at his wife.   _I cannot let my own anger consume me.  I have to temper Daenerys' ruthlessness_ , the King reminded himself.  "We cannot let our anger consume us, Dany," he reminded his wife gently.

His wife glared at him.  "How are you to protect your family, Jon, if you insist on being so soft?" she spat out contemptuously.

"We cannot sell our souls like that, My Queen.  We will become tyrants if we violate our promises to the people," Jon replied firmly.  "The Great Charter forbids the Crown from using dragons to execute criminals, even those guilty of treason.  I won't violate the Charter."  Dany seethed silently.  Jon knew that he wouldn't hear the last of this from his wife.  However, he couldn't deal with his wife's anger now.  He had to focus on Petyr Baelish.  "What are our options, Tyrion?" he asked his Hand calmly.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves.  We don't even know if Lord Baelish intends to do anything in Westeros.  Perhaps he and this imposter claiming to be Aegon Targaryen intend to run some nefarious scam in Essos.  The Targaryen name still has some cache in Essos.  Certain elites might rally behind a supposed Targaryen claimant, especially one who hates the Queen Daenerys as much as this man purports to.  Perhaps Littlefinger plans to use Aegon Targaryen as a puppet to destabilize Meereen and the Bay of Dragons.  Her Grace's enemies there would likely rally behind him," Tyrion counseled.

"You know this isn't the case, Lord Tyrion," Sansa, who had been quietly observing the conversation at the far end of the table, chimed in curtly.  "He wants vengeance against Jon and Daenerys.  He wants the Iron Throne.  He wants me.  Exile has likely made him more determined to get what he desires, not less."

"I was putting forth the most optimistic scenario, Lady Sansa," Tyrion replied calmly.

"Which is a fantasy, My Lord," Sansa pointed out sharply.  "You know it is a fantasy."

"Aye," Tyrion agreed.  "We can always hope for the best.  Otherwise, I do not know what to advise Their Graces.  Things are complicated."

"Lord Baelish was exposed by Lady Sansa once before.  He can be exposed again.  There is always a way, My Lord Hand," Jon insisted.  "Find it."

"It is not that simple, Jon.  If Littlefinger is associated with the Iron Bank, it may impossible to go against him without risking the Crown's finances and ultimately causing instability and starvation among your people," Tyrion explained.  "And this Aegon figure is likely a fraud.  However, your claim is also shaky, Jon.  There was one hidden Targaryen scion, so why can't there be another?"

"So my family is being threatened and there is nothing I can do about it because Westeros has debts with some damn greedy bankers," Jon seethed.  "Is that your analysis of the situation, My Lord Hand?"

"You can take your wife's suggestion.  That is what I am saying, My King.  If you want to adhere to the Charter, there are no options," Tyrion pointed out sharply.  The Hand walked over to the side table to pour himself a glass of wine.

Jon shifted slightly in his seat and stared at Tyrion incredulously.  He couldn't believe Lord Tyrion was so willing to violate the Charter that he himself had written or to give into Daenerys' darker impulses.  "There are always other options, My Lord.  Provide me with better advice or I will find another Hand," the King spat out.

Tyrion drained his glass of wine in one gulp and eyed the King and Queen.  It appeared for once that the Crown's Hand was speechless.

"Perhaps, there are some practical steps that the King and Queen can take to reduce the threat, Lord Tyrion," Sansa chimed in carefully from the far side of the table. "Security for the Royal Family should be increased and the Crown should take steps to create its own bank and mint."

Tyrion placed his empty wine glass on the table with a slight thud and looked at his former wife.  "My Lady Sansa, your first suggestion is quite sensible.  If Their Graces agree, I will have the Royal Family's bodyguard increased.  However, I am not sure about the practicality of a Crown Bank.  The gold mines of Casterley Rock have been tapped out.  Without bullion reserves, setting up a bank would be impossible," he explained to Sansa in a slightly condescending tone.

Sansa pursed her lips and looked at Tyrion severely.  She appeared annoyed by his condescension.  "I know that bullion reserves are needed to create a bank, My Lord Hand.  While Westeros has a dearth of gold, the North still has the silver reserves of White Harbor.  Silver can be used as banking reserves as well as gold.  Can it not?" she replied sharply.

"The North is independent from the rest of Westeros, Lady Sansa," Tyrion reminded her.  "Why would the Manderleys agree to provide their bullion for a bank located in King's Landing?"

"Lord Manderley will provide it please to his monarch and his future daughter-in-law," Sansa retorted.

Jon looked at Sansa, pleased by her contributions, especially her willingness to stand up to Tyrion.  His sister was becoming quite an adept politician.

Tyrion glared at Sansa.  The Hand seemed angry that Sansa had thought of a proposition he hadn't.  "A bank makes sense as a long-term strategy, but what about the immediate threat."

"Perhaps assassination is an option, My Lord Tyrion," Sansa explained calmly.  "I know someone who is quite capable of assassinations."

Jon's proud smile melted into his usual frown.  "No, Sansa," he remarked sharply.  "I won't use Arya in such a manner."  The King thought about the last time he had sent Arya on such a mission and how it had nearly cost her her life.  He had promised himself in the darkened Throne Room covered with Lannister blood that he would never ask his sister to murder for him again.  And Jon was determined to keep that promise.  His sister had been damaged enough by her experiences during the Great War.  She did not need more blood on her hands.  Jon owed Arya at least that much.   

"Why don't you ask her, Jon?" his sister asked pointedly.  "I doubt that she would have any qualms about doing it."

"I said no.  That is out of the question," the King snapped.  "I won't ask Arya to kill for me ever again.  I mean it, Sansa."

Sansa frowned slightly but did not voice her disapproval.

Jon looked around the table at the skeptical Tyrion and Sansa and his angry wife.  "If Lord Tyrion or Lady Sansa do not have any other suggestions, I have work to do."  He stood up from the table to leave.  "Lord Tyrion, increase the palace security.  Lady Sansa and I will discuss the issue of the bank with Lord Manderley."  He then turned to leave the room.

"Stay, My King," his wife ordered sharply before he walked from the door.  "We need to discuss things."

Jon turned back to face his wife.  "Dany, is this really necessary now?" he asked her gently.

"It is, My King," the Queen growled.  "Leave us," she ordered Sansa and Tyrion.  Dany walked to the window.  "Why do you refuse to protect your family, Jon?" she inquired angrily after Tyrion and Sansa had left.

Jon walked to where his wife was standing and glared at her angrily.  "You dare accuse me of refusing to protect our family.  I nearly gave my life for you and Ned, Dany, and I will do so again in a heartbeat," he growled.

"Yes, I believe you would sacrifice your life for our children and for me, Jon," she snapped as she turned toward him.  "That is easy for you.  However, you refuse to sacrifice your precious honor and your precious morals.  You even refuse to sully your sister's honor."

"It is not my precious honor, Dany.  I am thinking about the Charter, about our promises to the people, about the Crown Council.  We promised to create a better world.  How are we better than any tyrant that has come before us if we rule with threats and fears rather justice and mercy, if we use dragons to force our people to kneel before us?" he argued forcefully.  "I won't rule from a throne drenched with blood."

Dany looked at him, a look of cold fury in her eyes.  "Refusing to rule from a throne drenched with blood means sacrificing your throne entirely.  It means sacrificing your family," she stated forcefully.  "Do I need to remind you what happened to Elia and her children?  About how brutally they died?"

"Yes, I know how brutally they died," Jon snapped.  His contempt for Rhaegar bubbled up to the surface.

"You have contempt for my brother, your father, because of his abandonment of his family but you abandon your family through your naivete.  What makes you different from Rhaegar?" she growled.

The King glared at his wife.  "My Queen," he snapped.  "Do you not trust me to protect you and our children?"

"If you wanted to protect our family, our babies, you would allow me to use my dragons for their intended purpose, you would allow us to rule as Targaryens with Fire and Blood," Dany snarled.

"I have sacrificed myself, my entire identity, not to rule as a Targaryen tyrant with Fire and Blood, but to create a better world," Jon observed sharply

"Kings are tyrannical by their very nature.  What matters is your family," she insisted.  "I cannot believe that you continue to refuse to defend your wife, your babies."

"I will love you and our children forever.  I will defend you and our children forever.  But will not become a tyrant.  Our children deserve a world where there are no tyrants," he insisted strongly.

"Our children deserve a world where they remain alive," Dany argued fiercely.  "They deserve a world where their father chooses to protect them."

"I will protect them, Dany," Jon growled.  "I will protect you.  Why do you have so little faith in me?  I swore to protect my family under a Weirwood tree and I will keep that promise, but I won't have my reign drenched in the blood of my enemies."  He glared one more time at his wife and walked out of the room slamming the door as he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon is being I wouldn't say "naive" but idealistic. This is a recurring theme from the first story. Jon is torn between his desire to protect his family and his desire to be a just ruler. Being disgusted by bloodshed in general and not wishing for any more bloodshed, including for your enemies' deaths, is a more interesting dilemma than refusing to lie because of the half-delirious secret pledge you gave to some random woman you barely know to get in her pants.
> 
> And yes, Jon really hates Rhaegar because he abandoned his wife and children. It just seems obvious that a man with Jon's moral code would not think very highly of someone who abandoned his obligations for love.
> 
> Edit: Good arguments in the comments. We can at least argue that Jon is assertive in his point-of-view, unlike the show where he mumbles docilely to Dany and displays no assertiveness or leadership whatsoever. His POV may be incorrect but at least he has one rather than being Dany's servant.


	7. Petyr II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr and Aegon negotiate with the Iron Bank.

Tycho Nestoris stared at Petyr and Aegon with a look of bored professional apathy on his pinched pale face.  "You are claiming to be Aegon Targaryen and you want the Iron Bank to loan you money to take back the Iron Throne?"

"The Throne is mine by rights.  It is only fair that the legitimate son of Rhaegar Targaryen be crowned King of Westeros, not the bastard issue of his Northern harlot," Aegon sneered.

"Ah, yes, fairness and blood rights," Tycho observed sarcastically.  "Why not add sunshine and rainbows in for good measure?"

"The Throne is..." Aegon growled again, clearly angry at Tycho's disdain toward his claim.

Petyr rolled his eyes silently and held up his left hand to calm down Aegon.  "My King," he told the Targaryen imbecile in a sycophantic voice.  "What Tycho Nestoris meant to say was that the Iron Bank needs a compelling financial incentive to help us.  Remember we discussed that legal rights to the Throne weren't enough of a reason."

"It should be," Aegon snapped angrily.

Petyr looked at the banker across the table from them.  It appeared that Tycho was about ready to throw them out of his office.  "Perhaps Your Grace could leave us for a moment.  Tycho Nestoris and I are old colleagues.  Negotiations might go better if I could speak with him alone," he pleaded with the irate Aegon.

Aegon glared at Petyr silently for a moment but ultimately stormed out of the office.

Tycho watched as the Targaryen brat left in a huff.  The banker's calm face turned red with anger.  "You and I have been colleagues for nearly twenty years, Petyr.  I authorized loans for Westeros despite Robert Baratheon drinking and whoring away its treasury because I trusted your judgment.  I helped you establish yourself in Braavos after you were forced to flee King's Landing three years ago," he growled.  "And the thanks I get for my generosity is you bringing some half-witted brat claiming to be Aegon Targaryen into my office and demanding money to overthrow my best clients."  Tycho slammed his fists on the desk.  "I should turn you over to the Westerosi Crown for treason.  It will bolster the Bank's credibility with Their Majesties."

"You hate Jaeherys and Daenerys Targaryen as much as I do, Tycho.  You were complaining to me just a fortnight ago about how much more expensive selling slaves has become since slavery was officially outlawed across Essos and forced underground," Petyr pointed out calmly as he shifted forward in his seat.

"Yes, I hate that dragon bitch and her bumpkin husband," Tycho snapped, "but they are good for business.  There is stability Westeros after years of civil strife.  There is no profligate spending and loans are paid on time."

"However, you aren't getting much new business out of Westeros are you, my dear friend.  Frugality might be good for Westeros, but not for the Iron Bank," Petyr replied coolly.

"Actually, we are getting quite a bit of new business out of Westeros, all solid projects with excellent returns.  The Iron Bank has helped rebuild Oldtown.  We are financing the rebuilding of the Sept of Baelor," Tycho stated calmly as he leafed through parchments on his desk and pointed out various projects.  "Oh and here is one for a school for poor children and for a maternity clinic in the slums of King's Landing.  I've heard that the Queen was quite insistent on the latter project."  Tycho rolled his eyes at the last set of loans.  He didn't seem fond of the Westerosi Crown's charity initiatives.

"So you are okay with those vapid rulers as long as they pay their loans promptly and ask the Bank to finance the rebuilding of a damn religious structure," Petyr growled.

"I am, Lord Baelish," Tycho replied curtly as he reviewed the documents on his desk.  "You are focused on revenge rather than business.  It has clouded your judgment.  Unlike you, I will remain clear-headed and continue to support the Crown of Westeros over that half-witted brat as long as they remain good for business."

"You think that I intend to make Aegon king?" Petyr asked drolly.  "I thought you were more astute than that, my dear friend.  That twerp is a pawn in a longer game."

"You intend to make yourself King of Westeros?" the banker observed incredulously.

"Why not?" Lord Baelish replied.  He sighed and stared at his incredulous colleague.  "I certainly would be a more adept ruler than any of the Targaryens."

Tycho rolled his eyes again.  "Cunning is meaningless, Petyr.  Luck is what matters.  I thought you knew that."

"Those with cunning make their own luck," Baelish retorted.

The banker glanced at Baelish with a slightly amused look on his face.  "Your ambition amuses me, Petyr.  It always has, which is why I have helped you even when it is against my financial interests.  However, your thirst for revenge and open pursuit of power will lead to your demise.  You should learn to be content with holding the purse strings and manipulating the levers of power from behind the scenes as the Bank does."

Lord Baelish smirked slightly as he continued to stare at Tycho Nestoris from across his desk.  "Perhaps I can make it financially advantageous for the Bank to turn against the rulers of Westeros and support me instead," he explained drolly.

"As I told you, Petyr, it isn't profitable for the Bank to turn on the Targaryen regime," Tycho snapped.  He pointed to the thick pile of parchments on his desk.

Petyr continued to smirk.  "What if I told you that my contacts in Westeros suggest that there are vast untapped riches in the North - furs, lumber, and mineral deposits.  All resources desperately needed in Essos, especially Braavos.  I doubt that Jaeherys Targaryen has the acumen to exploit such resources to their potential and any profits from exports will be turned into schools and hospitals and whatever other projects those vacuous do-gooders imagine rather than lining the pockets of the Iron Bank," he replied calmly.  "Perhaps a different king would be more willing to share the untapped wealth of the North with the Iron Bank."

"It is an interesting proposal, Petyr," Tycho replied with an intrigued smile.  "However, you are still a risky investment.  Even if I ignore the fact that you are an attainted traitor in Westeros and that your chosen pawn is a blithering idiot, there is still the question of how you plan to neutralize Daenerys Targaryen's dragons."

"I have contacts at the Citadel who are willing to help me with that small problem," Petyr said calmly.

Tycho stared at him silently for a moment and pondered his response.  "Fine, Petyr," the banker finally replied.  "I am fonder of risks than many of my colleagues so I will assist you with what I can.  While I cannot provide you with money, I can provide you with the means to return to Westeros.  The Iron Bank is in need of a new representative to negotiate with the Westerosi Crown."  Tycho dipped a quill in his inkpot, scribbled his signature on one of the many parchments laying on his desk, and pressed his wax seal on it.  He handed the parchment to Petyr.  "Congratulations, Lord Baelish, on your appointment as the Iron Bank's representative to the Crown of Westeros.  The King and Queen won't be able to arrest you for treason as long as you have the Bank's official backing."

"Thank you for your generosity, Tycho," Petyr stated plainly as he grabbed the official appointment and got up to leave.

"Oh, and one more thing before you leave, Petyr," the banker added as he began scanning the papers on his desk.  "You are on your own.  If you fail, the Bank will deny knowing about your schemes."

"Indeed," Petyr stated as he reviewed the document in his hands.   _I don't plan to fail_ , he added silently.  A smug smile crept onto his face.  Fate was a fickle lover and that lover no longer favored Jaeherys Targaryen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwah, bankers are fun villains to write. As for the untapped potential of the North, I am going by a theory that I read about how Jon may end up being able to pay back the Iron Bank loan. Braavos and Essos need lumber and the North has quite a bit of it. (This was back when fandom was interesting and before it got overrun by casual viewers and shipping wars.)


	8. Gilly I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilly reflects on the changes in Oldtown since the Great War. Sam introduces his family to a mysterious fellow student.

Gilly stared out of the windows of the newly repaired Seamstresses' Guildhall and onto the promenade overlooking the Honeywine River.  Jeyne and Little Sam darted past her and scurried around the tables and looms and spindles set up in the Great Room as they played hide and seek.  Gilly sighed as she continued to look out the window for any sign of her husband.  Sam was late again.  He had promised her that he would be at the Guildhall by midday but it was nearly half past.  Generally, Gilly was forgiving of her husband's absentmindedness but she needed him to tend to their children while she scoured the stalls and stores for cloth for the gown she was completing for Queen Daenerys.

"Is your scatterbrained husband late again, Mistress Tarly?" Mistress Reilly stated as she looked up from the tunic she was hemming.

"Aye," Gilly admitted.  "It appears he is."

Mistress Reilly pursed her lips in disapproval.  "I thought Samwell Tarly was His Majesty's best friend.  You should be in King's Landing being attended to by servants and wearing fine silks and satins.  Yet, here you are in Oldtown slaving away over your loom and spindle while your husband pursues his pointless studies."

Gilly frowned at Mistress Reilly's derision.  "I do not mind working with my hands, Mistress Reilly.  I much prefer engaging in a good honest trade over becoming a dishonest and idle noblewoman," she observed coolly.

Mistress Reilly silently glared at Gilly for a long moment before muttering some inaudible remarks under her breath and returning to her sewing.

Gilly went back to looking out the window, a growing frown on her face.  Her own hard work and natural skill along with patronage of her services by Queen Daenerys had allowed her entrance into the Seamstresses' Guild and provided her family with a comfortable existence, but it hadn't provided her acceptance.  A few of the tradeswomen like her former mentor, Mistress Oakley, were kind to her, but most of the dressmakers shunned her.  They seemed to disdain everything about her - her Northern accent, her son's dubious parentage, and her unconventional marriage.  Most of all, they despised that she was one of them- a Free Folk or as the Southerners disdainfully called them, a Wildling.  A period of peace and perhaps justice had come to Westeros, but that hadn't eradicated bigotry and hatred one bit.  Old prejudices burned as brightly as they always had.

 _I've been through much worse_ , thought Gilly as she glanced back at Mistress Reilly and then back at the window.  She finally spied her husband rushing down the promenade and toward the Guildhall.  He was trying to balance a load of books in his arms and was being followed by another man, a tan-skinned beardless youth.  _Likely another acolyte at the Citadel_ , she thought with a silent laugh.  Sam had a knack for befriending fellow outcasts at the Citadel, many of whom saw him as a mentor.  Sam's odd collection of friends amused Gilly (even though she wished he would spend more time with his family and less time at his studies.)  They were kindred spirits to Gilly as well as her husband - a collection of broken things and eccentric personalities in a society that continued to value conformity and bloodlines.

Little Sam stopped playing under the tables for the moment and walked toward where she was standing by the window.  "Papa!" he shouted loudly when he spotted his father, his loud exclamation producing another round of disapproving stares from the other seamstresses.

Gilly laughed at her son's excitement and the tradeswomen's reaction.  "Why don't you run out and greet Papa?" she told her smiling son.

Little Sam nodded happily and ran out the Great Room tailed by his little sister.

"And be sure to mind Jeyne," Gilly called out after her son as he rushed through the door.  She picked up her satchel and with a curt nod left the Guildhall following her children.

When she reached the promenade, Sam had placed the pile of books he was carrying in a haphazard pile on the promenade and lifted Jeyne onto his shoulders much to the toddler's delight.  Gilly's annoyance with her husband momentarily lapsed and she almost forgave him for his tardiness as she watched him play with his children.  "You're late," she scolded Sam gently with a wide smile on her face.

"I am sorry, Gilly," Sam replied guiltily as he gently placed his daughter on the ground.  "It is just that Alleras and I were debating the political factors that contributed to the Dance of the Dragons and I lost track of time."  He looked over at the fellow acolyte with him.  "Oh, this is Alleras Sand, Gilly," he said introducing the man beside him.  "He is one of the students that I am tutoring in mathematics- one of the brightest acolytes I have ever encountered."

"I am sure that he says that about every acolyte he tutors," Alleras demurred.  "Ma'am, it is a pleasure to meet you."  The man held out his hand to her.

"The pleasure is all mine, Alleras," Gilly said taking the outstretched hand.  She stared at acolyte.  He had quite a feminine look about him.  If not for the fact that the Citadel specifically barred women from training there, Gilly would have suspected that Alleras was actually a woman.  _A_ _nother broken thing for Sam to add to his collection_ , she thought as she continued to examine the effeminate young man.

"Can Alleras join us for supper tonight?" Sam asked.

"Aye," Gilly said.  "I am always pleased to welcome one of Sam's friends from the Citadel to our home."  She nodded toward Alleras pleasantly and then eyed her husband mischievously.  "Of course, Sam will be the one making the dinner so I don't know how edible it will be."

Sam groaned.  "Gilly, I cannot," he insisted.  "I must return to the Citadel this afternoon."

"Your studies and students don't bring in income, Sam.  The fees you receive from tutoring are a pittance," she reminded her husband curtly.  "It is my dress shop that provides us with a roof over our head and food on our table.  I need to go to the markets and find the best material for my latest gown for the Queen."  She paused and grabbed Jeyne's hand before the toddler wandered too close to the edge of the promenade.  "Sam, I told you this is an important royal commission.  If the Queen is pleased with this dress, it could lead to even more commissions from her and from other noblewomen in the Court."

"I know that it is a good opportunity for you, Gilly.  But still can't your shopping wait?" her husband asked meekly.  "I really do have to return to my research at the Citadel Library."

"No, it cannot wait," Gilly stated plainly.  "Not if I wish to get the best silks for a decent price."

Sam nodded meekly; her husband knew better than to argue with her on most matters, especially matters involving her business.

Gilly smiled tentatively.  She was pleased that he agreed to tend to the house and children while she tended to her business, but she was unsure how he would react to the next subject.  She sighed.  "I will also need to travel to King's Landing to do fittings for the Queen."

Sam began absentmindedly picking up the books he had dropped.  

 _I knew he would be upset by that suggestion_ , Gilly thought disappointedly.  Her husband became visibly uncomfortable whenever she mentioned perhaps traveling to King's Landing to consult with the Queen about a royal order or even when she talked about the Court in general.  It was as if he was purposefully trying to avoid even thinking about his old friend.

"Why do you need to go to King's Landing, Gilly?  Can't you just send your gown to the Court like you did the other dresses?  Her Majesty was pleased with those," her husband finally asked her as he continued to rearrange the books in his arms.

Gilly laughed nervously; she was uncertain how to get Sam to understand how important this commission was for her business, for their livelihood.  "I have to go to King's Landing this time.  I cannot have Her Grace wearing an ill-fitting dress to the feast closing the Crown Council.  It will ruin my reputation as a dressmaker," she insisted forcefully.  "Why don't you come with me - you and the children?  It has been over three years since you've seen Jon."

Her husband shook his head.  "I need to stay at the Citadel," her husband lied unconvincingly.  "And Jon has Westeros to rule.  He doesn't need me distracting him."

"The King asks about you in every letter I receive from Queen Daenerys," Gilly reminded her husband gently.  "He misses you and I know that you miss him as well."

Sam looked at her.  "Missing an old friend is not enough.  Things change, Gilly.  We cannot recreate what once was.  Sometimes things are meant to change.  Both Jon and I have separate lives now," he insisted softly.  "I cannot bother the King of Westeros with my petty concerns and my insignificant life."

Gilly frowned slightly.  She doubted that Jon would see a visit from his old friend as an inconvenience or that he would consider the man who helped him defeat the Night King insignificant.

"Sam, I don't mean to pry into your personal affairs, but perhaps I can provide my own perspective," Alleras chimed in softly.  "I'm estranged from my own family so I just cannot imagine voluntarily isolating myself from an old friend like that even if the circumstances of our friendship had changed, even if that friend was now king.  You should go with your wife to King's Landing."  The acolyte looked at his shoes.  "I didn't mean to overhear.  I just thought I would add my opinion."

Gilly smiled gently and looked at her husband knowingly.  "You speak truth, Alleras.  I am glad that you support my opinion."  She patted him on the arm.   "And do not be embarrassed by your estranged family," she reassured him.  "Sam and I know a thing or two about difficult families."

Sam grumbled slightly at the newfound alliance between Gilly and Alleras.  "Fine," her husband mumbled.  "I will think about it, Gilly."

Gilly smirked.   _You will do more than think about it, Sam.  You will agree to it eventually,_ she thought triumphantly.  She then grabbed Jeyne in her right arm and motioned for the rest to follow her.  "Come then," she insisted plainly.  "We need to get home so Sam can begin dinner and I can tend to business matters."


	9. Daenerys I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys deals with court politics and marriage alliances on the eve of the Crown Council

Daenerys stabbed her needle into the edge of the handkerchief she was embroidering with quite a bit of force.  She despised having to preside over the sewing circle with the ladies of the Court as the Queen traditionally did.  On the rare occasions that she did grace the sewing circle with her attendance, Dany's interactions with the other ladies left her in a sour mood.   _Damn flighty women_ , she thought as she crossly eyed the other women chattering away and docilely working on their embroidery.  Today's sewing circle had made her feel even more irritated than usual.  Her argument with Jon had soured her mood.   _Why did Jon refuse to rule with Fire and Blood like a true Targaryen?_ she thought angrily as she shoved the needle into her embroidery.   _Stab. Stab. Stab._ She shoved her needle with even more force and anger into the handkerchief.   _Damn Jon.  Damn courtiers.  Damn vapid noblewomen_ , she thought angrily as she aggressively shoved her needle again and again through the damn linen fabric.

"My Queen, may I request a word with you," one of the noblewomen asked politely.

Dany nodded slightly and looked up from her sewing.  She noticed Lady Melessa Tarly and her daughter Talla standing before her bent in perfect curtsies.  "Please rise," the Queen ordered calmly and motioned for them to come closer to her.  "Lady Tarly, to what do I owe this pleasure?" she asked in her regal voice.

"I wished to introduce you to my daughter, Talla," the Lady of Hornhill replied.  "I thought perhaps that she could join your ladies-in-waiting.  Talla has quite the eye for the latest fashions and I believe that she would be a valuable asset to Your Majesty's Court."

"Do you wish to join my ladies-in-waiting, Lady Talla?" the Queen asked.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Talla replied.  "I would like nothing more than to come to the capital and perhaps make a good match."

"Then, I am not opposed to it," Dany stated in her indifferent regal voice.  The young woman standing in front of her appeared to be a typical court woman - formal and docile and boring - not the sort of lady-in-waiting that the Queen typically surrounded herself with.  However, it would be seen as an unacceptable slight if she denied Lord Tarly's daughter a place in her inner Court.   _Politics_ , Dany grumbled to herself.

"I thank you for your boon, My Queen," Lady Talla replied sweetly dipping into another perfect curtsy and turning with her mother to leave.

"Lady Talla, you and your mother may stay and sit next to me," Daenerys replied plainly as she watched the Tarlys begin to leave.  The Queen groaned quietly as the words left her mouth.  She doubted that either woman would have anything interesting to say.  However, as Tyrion always reminded her, interesting conversation wasn't the point of these damn sewing circles, politics was.  And currently, it was wise politics to grant privileged access to her presence to the Tarly women.   _The Crown may need the Reach's armies if what Tyrion and Varys warned us about Petyr Baelish and his schemes turn about to be true_ , she thought grimly.  Her anger toward Jon returned and she picked up her embroidery and continued to forcefully shove her needle through the linen fabric.   _Stab.  Stab.  Stab._ Daenerys grumbled quietly as she shoved her needle into her handkerchief, taking out more anger toward her husband on the unfortunate piece of embroidery.

"Your Majesty, perhaps I can provide you with some help on your embroidery," Lady Talla asked sweetly as she looked up from her own handkerchief with its rows of neat and complicated stitching and gestured toward Daenerys' unfortunate handkerchief with its messy jumble of tangled and knotted thread.  "I've always found that moving your needle slowly and delicately rather than stabbing it forcefully makes your stitches straighter and less knotted," the young woman advised the Queen politely.

Daenerys tried to listen tactfully and politely as Lady Talla tried to guide her through some simple stitches.  However, the Queen's frustration soon overcame her and she began stabbing at her embroidery again.   _I am the ruler of Westeros.  The Crown Council opens in less than a week.  The Iron Bank may be plotting against us.  Jon refuses to defend his family against traitors.  And yet here I am doing embroidery_ , she griped silently.   _Stab.  Stab.  Stab._ Dany continued to attack her handkerchief with force.

"Perhaps, My Queen, it would be best if you set your embroidery aside," Lady Melessa stated in a gentle, almost motherly voice.  "I've always found that sewing when I am angry leads to nothing but knotted thread and bloody fingers," she whispered as she gently removed the needle from Dany's right hand and placed it on a nearby table.

Dany wanted to resist Lady Tarly's advances.  After three years in King's Landing, she knew there was always a nefarious motive behind such sweet and flowery words.  But Melessa Tarly was so kind in her words and gentle in her actions, her daughter so without guile that the Queen dropped her guard for a minute.  Most of the ladies of the court would have whispered behind her back, snickering about whether she and Jon were fighting again while acting as obedient subjects in front of her, but not Lady Tarly.  She dropped her embroidery and eyed the Tarlys cautiously.  "So what should we do then, My Lady Tarly," she asked skeptically.

"Perhaps we can gossip and giggle a bit," Talla suggested.  "I've always found that gossiping and giggling improve my mood."

"I haven't had friends to gossip and giggle with since Missandei returned to Naath," Dany replied sadly.  "Queens don't have friends, not true ones."

"We shall have to change that now that I am to be part of your court, My Queen," Talla whispered sympathetically.

"Perhaps," Dany stated mildly.  Dany remained skeptical of the Tarlys' motives but she had to admit it would be quite nice to have a friend to gossip with.  It could be quite lonely in the Red Keep surrounded by courtiers who publicly acquiesced to her every whim while whispering against her at every turn.  She only had Jon to confide in and even with her husband, she had to compete with the North, the Starks, and his damn honor.  The last one continued to make Dany especially angry.  She eyed her abandoned embroidery and contemplated picking it up once again and continuing to take out her current anger toward her husband on the unfortunate handkerchief.

"Your Grace, I hear that some congratulations are in order," Lady Melessa observed sensing the Queen's continued disquiet and trying to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"On what?" Dany asked testily as she continued to eye her abandoned sewing.

"The Princess Regent's upcoming marriage of course," the Lady of Hornhill replied sweetly.  "Lady Sansa is a dear woman and it is good to see her find some happiness.  I had hoped, however, that Her Highness would choose to remain King's Landing and become part of Your Majesty's Court.  She is quite a rare gem."

"My good sister is quite happy in the North.  I doubt that she will ever be as content in King's Landing as she is at Winterfell.  All her worst memories are of the capital and Red Keep," the Queen reminded Lady Melessa softly.

"Indeed, My Queen, it is just that I had hoped that Lady Sansa would make a match King's Landing.  She and my own son, Dickon Tarly, would have been quite the handsome couple," Melessa Tarly stated tentatively.  "Has Lady Arya considered perhaps courting anyone seriously?" she added discreetly.

Dany's face fell.   _So_ _this was what the Tarlys' sudden kindness toward me was all about.  Lady Melessa wishes to marry her son to one of Jon's sisters - Sansa preferably but she will settle for Arya,_ she thought sadly.   _Why does everyone in this blasted Court always have ulterior motives behind their kindness?_ She looked at the Tarlys with a sharp frown on her face.  "No, Lady Arya is not considering a serious courtship.  Her Highness is very much a free spirit," she replied curtly.  "Now if you will excuse me, I feel a bit dizzy and need some air."  The Queen rose quickly and fled through a side door into the gardens ignoring the curious stares and whispers among the rest of the ladies of the Court.  Her icy regal demeanor melted in the hot midday sun and she began sobbing silently.   _Damn Tarlys.  Damn gossipy ladies.  Damn Jon._ Tears began to slide silently down her cheeks, something which annoyed Dany greatly.   _A queen shouldn't show weakness, even in private_ , she reminded herself.  However, the tears kept sliding down her face.

"My Queen," Lady Melessa's soft voice called out to her.  "What is wrong?"

Dany gulped slightly and wiped her eyes with her dress's voluptuous sleeves.  She motioned for her guards to allow Lady Melessa into her presence.  "Nothing, My Lady," she insisted.

"If it was nothing, you wouldn't have gone off in such a huff," Lady Melessa stated gently.

"Aye, well then everything.  The Court.  And plots.  And ulterior motives.  And even Jon," the Queen snapped.  She bit her lip to keep from crying but more tears slid down her face.

"So you are upset that I brought up the suggestion of a marriage contract between Arya and Dickon, Your Grace?" Lady Tarly asked gently.

"Yes," Dany nodded, "along with everything else - with all the plots in the Court and all the threats outside of it."

"I will admit, Your Grace, that I did have an ulterior motive in coming to the Court with my lord husband," Lady Tarly said softly.  "I do wish to make a good match for Dickon as does Lord Tarly."  She lightly caressed Dany's shoulder.  "However, dear - and I hope you won't feel insulted by me calling you that - I am concerned about how lonely and isolated you seem - both you and the King.  Your Majesties need some real companionship in the Court."  Melessa Tarly patted her should and looked her in the eyes.  "Will you allow my daughter and myself to provide you with that friendship?"

Dany regarded the older women warily but finally nodded her assent.  It would be nice to have friends within the Court rather than regarding everyone with such suspicion.  And encouraging Arya to make a match, even if it wasn't Dickon Tarly, wasn't a bad idea.  Jon's sister seemed to be drifting aimlessly.  Perhaps a marriage will provide her with some stability and direction.  _I will mention something to Jon,_ she thought.  _If he ever speaks to me again,_ she added glumly.  The Queen's face darkened again as she thought about her current spat with her husband.

"Now, Your Majesty, we'll have more of that glum demeanor," Melessa admonished her gently.  "Dry your eyes and come back to the sewing circle.  It won't do for our gracious Queen to be outside moping rather than presiding over her Court."  Lady Melessa offered Dany her arm and gently led her back to the sewing circle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to show a more vulnerable and emotional Dany and thought using a traditional gendered activity that she would probably despise would be a good way to do it. And marriage politics, particularly the marriage prospects of the Stark sisters, play an important part in the story.


	10. Tyrion II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Crown Council opens with both fanfare and unwelcome guests

Tyrion carefully inspected every nook and crevice of the Great Hall, making sure banners, flowers, and ribbons had been properly placed and that the floors and rafters had been cleaned until they glistened.  The Hand was quite pleased with the results.  Despite his concerns about whatever Littlefinger was up to in Braavos, it seemed like the Crown Council would commence without a problem.  The Great Hall looked perfect.  The numerous royal banners with the twinned white wolf and red dragon fluttered in the gentle breeze and the fragrant aroma of summer flowers from the Reach filled the cavernous room.  _I_ _t really does look magnificent,_ Tyrion thought as he walked slowly through the Hall admiring his handiwork,  _a good balance between expressing Their Majesties' magnanimity toward their loyal subjects and reminding any plotting courtiers of Targaryen_ _power._  Tyrion, in contrast to his usual cynicism, was beginning to truly believe that the Council would run smoothly and put an end to all the recent unpleasantness in the Court.  The Crown's vision for Westeros and the Great Charter that made that vision possible would once again be front and center along with the man who responsible for both, of course.  He, Tyrion, the Hand to the Crown, would be the most important man in Westeros for at least the next few months, a role that he always relished playing.

"My Lord Hand," Varys stated as he walked toward the dais where Tyrion was making sure the ornate wooden thrones were adequately adorned with red and black ribbon.  "The Hall looks quite impressive.  I didn't know that you had a hidden talent for decorating."

"I have many hidden talents, Lord Varys," Tyrion observed with a wide smile on his face.  "And Sansa helped," he admitted as an afterthought.

"Oh, I already knew that Lady Sansa was responsible for most of this," Varys replied drolly.  "I am just surprised that you are willing to openly share credit for your Council with anyone.  You must be in quite a generous mood today, My Lord Hand."

"I am," Tyrion stated happily.  "It appears that my experiment will be a great success.  Few of the great lords and ladies who will be filling the Hall today thought that the Council could be convened at all, let alone as smoothly as it has been with minimal plots and almost no violence.  Yet, here we stand because of my tireless efforts.  It is one of my greatest achievements."  He continued to smile broadly as he admired the Great Hall.

"Indeed, Tyrion, you are to be congratulated for successfully shepherding the Crown Council so far," Vary stated coolly.  "However, you are savvy enough to realize that plots and factional fights and even violence can still occur.  You should remain wary until the Council closes rather than resting on your laurels."

"I know, Varys.  I know," Tyrion sighed as he glanced down from his perch on the dais and out onto the cavernous hall where the lords and ladies of the Court had begun to trickle in.  "I was just taking a moment to admire my handiwork so far."  He turned to Varys.  "What new plots have you heard about?" he asked the spymaster cautiously.

"Lady Ellaria spent last night at the Inn of the Seven Sighs loudly complaining to the other patrons about how Dorne is being neglected by the Crown.  The Northern lords are all whispering about how they should have the undivided attention of the King.  And Lord Tarly is angling for control of the Reach once Lady Olenna dies."

Tyrion grumbled.  "I asked for new plots, Lord Varys, not a recitation of old grievances.  The discontent in both Dorne and the North and the ambitions of Lord Tarly are well known to Their Majesties and, more importantly, to me."

"I am just reminding you, Lord Tyrion, of the obstacles ahead.  There are enough existing grievances and blind ambitions and treasonous plots in this city already.  The Crown Council could be the spark that ends up accidentally setting the city afire and ruining the new world both you and Their Graces are creating," Varys warns.

"I understand your concerns, Varys," Tyrion sighed.  "I will speak to Their Graces about Lady Ellaria.  And perhaps the announcement of the Royal Visit to Winterfell will calm the Northern lords - although I doubt it."  He paused.  "That only leaves the Tarlys, and frankly I don't know how to appease Randyll Tarly.  I doubt that the King would grant him a seat on the Small Council.  Jon despises that man."

"Perhaps, Lady Melessa Tarly has already found a way out of our predicament.  I heard that she proposed a marriage contract between her son and the King's sister to the Queen just this week," Varys replied calmly.

"That would be a good solution but for the fact that Lady Sansa has already accepted a proposal from Ser Wilhem Manderley," Tyrion pointed out.  "Offending the Manderleys by withdrawing a royal marriage proposal would be unwise especially since we are counting on them to provide reserve bullion for the Crown Bank.  But you were already aware of that complication, weren't you, Lord Varys."

"Lady Melessa knows that Sansa Stark is engaged.  She was speaking to the Queen about Lady Arya's marriage prospects," Varys stated.

Tyrion grimaced at the mention of Arya Stark.  "So you are telling me that our best chance of appeasing Lord Tarly lies with Arya Stark?" the Hand.  A marriage between Dickon Tarly and Arya Stark might satisfy Lord Tarly but Tyrion doubted that Arya would consent the match.  More likely than not, she'd end up harming the Crown's delicate alliances with the Reach.

"That is exactly what I am saying, My Lord," Varys insisted.  "And why are you looking at me so skeptically?  Arya is a bright young woman who will do her duty if she knows that it will protect her brother."

"If that duty was leading men into battle or assassinating one of Jon's enemies, I don't doubt she would jump to defend the Crown.  But what is being asked is quite different.  I doubt Arya Stark will consent to a political marriage," Tyrion pointed out.

"The decision on a marriage contract isn't only Arya's to make.  The King could always sign the contract for her," the spymaster insisted.  "If it is in Westeros best interest, Jon will agree to the match."

"Jon will always respect Arya's wishes regardless of how it affects his reign.  The only people he indulges more than his sister are his children," Tyrion grumbled.

"Despite your dislike of her, Arya has done nothing to endanger her brother's reign," Varys pointed out.  "If she does, I believe Jon will do what is right for Westeros just as he does when he disagrees with the Queen."

Tyrion frowned.  He was surprised by Varys' optimism.  "I doubt it, Lord Varys," he observed cynically.  Tyrion continued to glance out onto the crowd gathering in Great Hall until he spied the Starks entering the Hall.  He eyed Sansa wistfully as she walked down the center aisle followed by her brother and sister.  The Princess Regent looked quite radiant in a forest green dress with a silver and ruby necklace glittering on her neck - a present from her betrothed Tyrion surmised.

"Speak of the devils," Varys whispered knowingly as Tyrion continued to stare at his former wife lustfully.

Tyrion walked down the dais slowly and toward the center of the Great Hall where the Stark siblings were surrounded by a large gaggle of courtiers.  "Your Highness, you look quite lovely today," he complimented Sansa.  "And Lady Arya and Lord Brandon it is always a pleasure."  Bran nodded formally while Arya stared at the Hand suspiciously.  The Mistress of War and Ships seemed aware of Tyrion's continued infatuation for her sister.

"My Lord Hand, the Hall looks magnificent," Sansa replied politely attempting to ease the awkward situation.

"Thanks mainly to your efforts, Lady Sansa.  You are quite an asset to the Court.  I have heard your invitations are as sought after by the ladies of the Court as the Queen's are.  It is a pity you will be leaving King's Landing after the Council.  Your presence has brightened the Red Keep immensely," Tyrion observed.

"My place is in the North, My Lord, securing my brother's rule," the Princess Regent replied rebuffing Tyrion's advances gently.

Arya rolled her eyes.  "Lord Tyrion, do you like Sansa's new necklace?  Ser Wilhelm gave it to her.  Jon intends to publicly announce their betrothal at the feast tonight," she announced loudly, causing the courtiers who had flocked around the Starks to erupt into a cacophony of giggles and whispers at Tyrion's awkward attempts to flirt with his former wife.

Tyrion's face reddened and he glared sharply at Arya.   _Why can't that girl learn to mind her mouth and manners rather than making such embarrassing scenes?_ Tyrion thought angrily.  "I am quite aware of Lady Sansa's upcoming nuptials, Lady Arya," he snapped.

"Sometimes I wonder if you are, My Lord Hand," Arya remarked, causing the surrounding courtiers to erupt in another round of laughter.

Lady Sansa looked uncomfortably at Tyrion and her sister.  The Princess Regent attempted to defuse the tension between the two by changing the subject.  "Their Graces asked me to apologize, but they need to delay the start of the ceremony.  Princess Rhaellla woke in the middle of the night crying in pain.  Cecily suspects it is only teething but the King refused to leave the Royal Apartments until he is sure Rhae is comfortable," Sansa apologized to Tyrion.  "They will arrive in the Great Hall shortly."

Tyrion groaned at this news.  Between Arya Stark's cutting remarks and Their Majesties' tardiness, it seemed like the gods were conspiring to ruin his carefully planned ceremony.  He frantically waved down a page walking through the Great Hall.  "Please go to the Royal Apartments and remind Their Graces about the opening ceremony for the Crown Council," the Hand ordered the servant.

"I didn't know you could order Their Graces around, My Lord Hand.  Doesn't it generally work the other way?" Arya commented loudly as the courtiers in the nearly filled Great Hall erupted in another round of chuckles.

Tyrion grumbled.  "Belay that.  I will talk with Their Majesties myself," he told the page and walked off toward the Royal Apartments in a huff.  Tyrion Lannister would not allow Arya Stark to continue to make him look like a fool, not in front of the Court and definitely not on today of all days.

The Hand found his sovereigns in their small private courtyard outside Maegor's Holdfast.  Dany was rocking a sobbing Rhaella in her arms while Jon was attempting to distract Ned by helping him make mud pies.  The King and Queen were weary and disheveled but, at the same time, both seemed oddly content.  It appeared that the latest fight between the two had been resolved at least temporarily.  If not for the importance of the Council to the country's future, Tyrion would have been relieved that the couple had reconciled yet again and willing to overlook the monarchs' tardiness and unorthodox behavior.  However, it was the day of the Crown Council and Their Majesties needed to act like rulers rather than doting parents.  "My King and My Queen, your presence is requested in Court.  It is the opening of the Crown Council," he stated exasperatedly.  "We've spent three years striving toward this day.  It is critical that everything goes perfectly."

Jon looked up from his crouched position near Ned.  "I know what day it is, Lord Tyrion," he snapped.  "I understand its importance.  However, my family is more important.  My little girl needs her parents right now.  The Court will just have to wait."  The King then pointed out a spider to his happy and muddy son.

Tyrion grumbled.  Jon could be quite obstinate, especially when it came to protecting his family, and that stubbornness generally came in expense to his duties as king.  _He has been king for over three years_ , the Hand groaned to himself.  _Why is he still so unwilling to act like one?_ He eyed Jon sourly and then looked over at Daenerys who was caressing Rhaella's cheek.  Perhaps he would have more success with appealing to the Queen.  Daenerys had always been the more practical and calculating of the two.  "My Queen, perhaps Cecily can care for the Princess so you and the King can get ready for the Council," he suggested calmly.  "It is imprudent to keep the Court waiting."

"I think Jon was quite clear, Lord Tyrion," the Queen replied as she gave her daughter a kiss on her silvery head.  "We will arrive in the Great Hall after Rhae has calmed down.  Find a way to delay the ceremony until then."

"What do you want me to do?" Tyrion asked sarcastically.  "Entertain the great lords and ladies of Westeros with songs and jokes like a jester?"  He glared at his monarchs.  "You have a whole staff of nursemaids and servants to care for your children so that you can rule Westeros," he pointed out acidly.

"Tyrion, shut up about the damn Council already," Jon snapped as Little Ned pressed his muddy hands on his father's linen shirt.  "The ceremony will be delayed until Rhae has calmed down.  That is my decision as your king."  Jon looked at Tyrion angrily.  "My daughter and wife almost died, Tyrion!  If not for Archmaester Marwyn, the Court would be mourning their queen and princess rather than celebrating the opening of the Council."

It was clear to Tyrion that Jon thought he was being selfish and unreasonable in his requests.   _What is selfish and unreasonable is shirking one's duties to make mud pies with a toddler,_ he observed to himself grumpily.

"If that is all, Tyrion, please return to the Great Hall and tell the Court the ceremony is being delayed," Jon ordered sternly as he got up from his crouched position, walked over to Daenerys, and took his daughter from his wife's arms.

"Your Grace," Varys came running into the courtyard.  "We have a problem."

Jon grumbled as he continued shushing his daughter.  "Yes, I know Varys.  You are upset that we are not in the Great Hall.  As I told Tyrion, we shall be there once our daughter is sleeping."

"No, Your Grace," the spymaster said.  "It isn't that.  Petyr Baelish showed up in King's Landing today with another man claiming to be Aegon Targaryen."

Jon looked at his wife.  "Arrest them for treason," the King ordered coolly.

"Baelish has a parchment from the Iron Bank appointing him as their representative to Westeros," Varys replied.

"I don't care about his credentials," Jon snapped as he rocked Rhae.  "Have the City Guards arrest them and escort them to the Red Keep.  The Queen and I will deal with this matter after we open the Council."

"Jon, we should go prepare for the Council," Dany commented with a steely glint in her eyes.  She grabbed her son's muddy right hand and began walking back to the Royal Apartments.

"Indeed, Dany," the King agreed calmly.  He turned to Tyrion.  "We will be in the Great Hall shortly, My Lord Hand.  Send guards to arrest Baelish in the meantime.  I want it done without incident."  Jon shifted Rhaella in his arms and followed his wife back into the palace.

Tyrion groaned as he watched the royal family.  "Have the City Guards arrest Baelish and his entourage," he ordered one of the soldiers standing guard on the perimeter of the courtyard.  The Hand then turned to Varys.  "You were saying something about a spark setting Westeros ablaze," Tyrion observed as he and the spymaster walked back to the Great Hall.

The optimistic assessment Tyrion had voiced only an hour before was wrong.  Fate seemed to be conspiring to derail the Crown Council.  The Hand to the Crown of Westeros thought of all the forces threatening his vision for Westeros as he walked through the Red Keep.  He needed a stiff drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Tyrion is quite a self involved jerk. I am disappointed that the show chose to make him so white. I am sure that Peter Dinklage would love playing an even darker Tyrion.


	11. Petyr III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon confronts Petyr and Aegon.

Petyr watched as Aegon paced back and forth in the well-appointed chamber in the Red Keep where the City Guard had escorted them.  The young man was livid.  "How dare that bastard usurper imprison me?  I am the rightful King of Westeros," he growled as he peered out the doorway and into the hallway patrolled by heavily armed soldiers.

"Your Grace, we discussed approaching this situation with a bit more tact.  Slandering your half-brother in front of the heavily armed men sworn to defend him won't get us closer to our goal," Petyr reminded the young man delicately.  "It will only lead to your execution."

Aegon stared at him angrily but finally decided it was prudent to remain quiet.  He sat down in a chair facing the window.

Petyr smiled, grateful that the simpering brat had finally shut up.   _Thank the gods for small favors_ , he thought.  If he had to listen to another second of Aegon's moaning, Petyr may have ended up strangling the man with his bare hands.   _And I would lose my pawn, a complication I can ill afford_ , he reminded himself as he stared icily at the insipid young man.

Things had not gone as Petyr had planned.  Although he had known it was risky to openly arrive in King's Landing, he had expected his credential from the Iron Bank to shield him from the Crown's wrath, at least for the time being.  He would not have expected such a paper shield to have protected him from the wrath of a ruler other than Jaeherys Targaryen, but the King of Westeros was the spitting image of his uncle - honorable to a fault and quite naive because of it.  So Petyr had been surprised when the City Guards had stormed into the manse where he and Aegon were staying and forcibly escorted them to the Red Keep.   _Perhaps three years of ruling has made Jaeherys Targaryen cautious.  This may end up being more difficult than I expected_ , Petyr mused.  However, Petyr had gotten out of tighter predicaments before.  He was confident in his ability to outmaneuver Jaeherys Targaryen; after all, he had nearly done so three years earlier.   _If not for that former smuggler, Jaeherys Targaryen would be dead and I would already be king_ , he thought angrily.

"Show Their Graces to our guests," a suave voice ordered sternly outside the doors, "and be quick about it.  The King and Queen have better things to do with their day than deal with foreign traitors."

The guard stationed in the hallway opened the door and Jaeherys Targaryen entered along with his wife and Tyrion Lannister.  Petyr rose from his chair and studied his old enemy.  He reluctantly admitted that the young man cut quite a regal figure, especially with the intricate golden crown placed firmly on his head.  If not for his previous dealings with the young man, Petyr Baelish would have actually considered Jaeherys Targaryen to be quite intimidating.

"It is customary to stand in the presence of royalty, Sir," Petyr heard Tyrion's droll voice observe.  Lord Baelish turned his head to see a defiant Aegon still seated and looking at his brother and aunt with pure hatred in his eyes.   _You have got to be kidding me_ , Petyr thought angrily as he glared at his pawn.  He motioned for the daft young man to rise.

Aegon ignored Petyr and continued to remain seated.  Tyrion gestured for two of the guards to force Aegon to his feet.  "I have no use for protocol right now, Tyrion," the King replied.  He motioned for his bodyguards to remove their hands from Aegon and sat on an ornate chair facing Petyr.  The Queen sat next to her husband, her violet eyes staring at Petyr and Aegon contemptuously.

Petyr sat down again and continued to study his old enemy silently for a moment.  "Is this how the Crown of Westeros treats representatives of the Iron Bank, Your Majesties?" he finally asked with an indignant voice.  He handed the parchment signed by Tycho Nestoris over to Tyrion.

Tyrion quickly scanned the Bank's credentials with disgust.  "My Lord Baelish, you of all people should know better than to rely on a paper shield.  You were present when my dear sister ripped up such a shield from Robert Baratheon proclaiming Ned Stark as regent."

The King shifted slightly in his seat as his Hand reminded him of one of Peter's many treasons against his family.  His eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips.  "You are guilty of multiple counts of treason, Lord Baelish.  Please tell me why I shouldn't execute you," Jaeherys asked angrily.

"My credential explains why, Your Majesty," Petyr replied calmly.

"As the Hand pointed out, Lord Baelish, this paper won't protect you from charges of treason," the Queen snapped.

"Oh, Your Grace, but it will," Petyr replied coolly.  "I doubt the Faith will be happy when the Iron Bank cancels the loan to rebuild the Sept of Baelor," he reminded her.  "And the financing for those little charity projects like your maternity clinic will be canceled as well.  I doubt that will make you popular with the mob.  People might even remember why a large portion of Flea Bottom was burnt down by dragonfire during the last war."

The King glared at Petyr.  "The Bank wouldn't dare cancel our loans," Jaeherys snapped.  "We always pay those damn loans in a timely manner."

"Indeed, Your Grace, the Iron Bank considers you an excellent client right now, but that will change if you execute the Bank's duly appointed representative," Petyr observed plainly.

"The Iron Bank considers the Crown of Westeros an excellent client, and yet they appointed a known traitor their emissary?" Lord Tyrion retorted.  "You betrayed the King's foster father.  You attempted to assassinate Their Graces on multiple occasions.  Your men killed His Majesty's advisor, Ser Davos Seaworth.  So you will excuse our skepticism about the Bank's support for Their Graces' rule."

"Aye, I did everything you accuse me of.  I admit it," Petyr replied as he eyed Tyrion Lannister cautiously.  "And you, Lord Tyrion, killed your father, the Hand to the King.  But you have been pardoned for your crimes and stand at the pinnacle of power in Westeros."

"Tyrion Lannister's crimes have been forgiven because he is a loyal and trustworthy advisor, Lord Baelish.  He will not conspire against our rule unlike you," the King snapped.

"Neither will I conspire against you again, Your Grace," Petyr replied calmly.  "You have forgiven so many enemies to bring peace and stability to Westeros, why not one more?"

"Because I am not stupid, My Lord Baelish," Jaeherys Targaryen stated contemptuously.  The frown on his melancholy face grew deeper and his brown eyes narrowed to angry dark slits.

"What seems stupid to me Your Majesty, is alienating the Iron Bank by executing its duly appointed representative.  Think of the violence and disunity that will come to Westeros, the innocent peasants who will starve - all because you put your personal contempt for an old enemy ahead of the good of your people," Petyr suggested smoothly.  "But, of course, I am just a humble banker.  What do I know about affairs of state."

The King fidgeted in his chair and adjusted his crown.

Petyr smiled smugly as he watched Jaeherys Targaryen.  It appeared that his words were gnawing at the young man's conscience.   _His compassion and honor will lead to his downfall just as it led to his uncle's_ , Petyr thought triumphantly.  "Let there be no further enmity between us, Your Graces.  Let the future be profitable for all of us," Lord Baelish stated smoothly as he offered the King his right hand, which the young man rebuffed with a chilly nod.

The Queen continued to glare at Petyr silently with her intense violet eyes.

"I see that Your Majesties are still suspicious of my intentions," Petyr observed calmly reacting to the monarchs' chilly reaction to his declaration.  "Perhaps a peace offering of sorts will allay your suspicions," Petyr stated motioning toward Aegon, who had thankfully remained silent throughout the conversation.  "I am sure you are wondering who the man sitting beside me is.  This is Aegon Targaryen, your kinsman."

"And the rightful King of Westeros," Aegon proclaimed forcefully as he covetously eyed the King and Queen's crowns.

The stony-faced guards and attendants silently stationed around the chamber burst into raucous laughter at Aegon's seemingly preposterous claim.

"I see that My Lord Baelish has brought a jester with him," the Queen observed acidly.  "Such a comedy act might be considered hilarious in Braavos, but the King and I do not consider the legitimacy of the Crown nor the sad fates of Princess Elia and her children as being funny."  The chuckles in the room quieted at Daenerys' stern pronouncement.

"But it is not a joke, Dear Aunt.  I am Aegon Targaryen," Aegon growled.  He shuffled through his satchel and produced the parchment bearing Jon Connington and Oberyn Martell's seals.  "Here is my proof, Aunt Daenerys."

Petyr's face reddened.  He had managed to turn a dangerous situation to his benefit only to have it undone by his idiot pawn.   _Shut up already, you imbecile_ , he thought.

"Indeed," the Queen looked disdainfully at Aegon's parchment.  "I see nothing that proclaims you as the rightful King of Westeros on this parchment," she pointed out as she set the document aside.

"Yet, you are willing to support the claim of Jaeherys Targaryen on equally flimsy grounds," Aegon spat out.  "What claim to the throne does your husband have other than a similar parchment and the sworn word of some minor Northern bannerman?"

"I have thousands of soldiers and three dragons, Sir," Jaeherys stated calmly.  He looked at Petyr.  "You are free to go, Lord Baelish, unfortunately.  Your paper shield from the Iron Bank is enough to protect you for now."  The King rose from his chair followed by his wife.  "I will have some of our soldiers escort you around King's Landing to inspect the Great Sept and the Crown's other projects so that you can provide an accurate report to the Bank.  However, you will leave Westeros by the end of the month and you will never return to these shores."  Jaeherys stared at Aegon before he turned to leave with his wife and entourage.  "And teach your friend the proper way to address royalty, Lord Baelish.  I am feeling generous today so I won't have him arrested for insulting the Crown.  The next time we meet, I may not be in such a forgiving mood."  The King motioned for two of his bodyguards to force Aegon to his feet as the royal entourage exited the chamber.

Aegon seethed as the King and Queen as the left the room.  "I will have the bastard usurper's -," he began to proclaim, his words trailing off as he recognized the imprudence of making another such open declaration against his half-brother.

Petyr rolled his eyes.  "We discussed not acting so imprudently, Your Grace," he reminded Aegon.

Aegon glared at him.  "What is our next move?" he asked impatiently

"To meet with our allies," Petyr said calmly as he exited the chambers followed by Aegon. 


	12. Jon III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Daenerys discuss how to neutralize the threat from Aegon and Petyr. Jon asks Arya for a favor.

Jon sat on a stump in the dark Godswood in the gardens of the Red Keep alongside Ghost.  He had snuck out of the feast celebrating the Council's opening as soon as was prudent and escaped to the relative solitude of the darkened trees.  The numerous formal ceremonies for the opening of the Crown Council and the unexpected arrival of Petyr Baelish had made the King even more restless than usual.  He needed time alone among the darkened trees to think about how to handle his enemy and to ask advice of the three guardians he hoped were watching over him and his family, especially his father.   _I've spent the last three years doing everything possible to protect my brother and sisters, to live up to your moral code, to make you proud_ , he told Ned Stark silently.   _But now it seems impossible for me to do both.  How can I rule compassionately and justly when it puts my family in danger?_   Silent tears streamed down Jon's face as he sent desperate prayers into the heavens to a dead man he wasn't sure could even hear them.

Ghost nuzzled up against him trying desperately to comfort his distressed owner.  Jon patted his direwolf on the head.  "Perhaps we should return to the feast, boy," he told Ghost, resigned to spending the rest of the night listening to the sugary lies and false flattery of the courtiers.  The King sighed, wiped his face, and readjusted the golden circlet that had been weighing heavily on his head all day.  He walked from the Godswood and back toward the Red Keep tailed by Ghost and his bodyguards.

Jon slipped into the Banqueting Hall and to his seat in the center of the high table quietly.  Or at least as quietly as a king could.  He was sure that even amid the happy chatter and music, the courtiers were all watching him and speculating about why their eccentric king had left the feast for such a long spell.  Jon smiled regally as his settled back onto his throne with Ghost nuzzled behind him.

Dany leaned over from the throne to his right.  "I was becoming worried that you wouldn't return to the feast," his wife whispered gently as she grabbed his right hand with her left and squeezed it firmly.

"I needed to be alone and think in the Godswood," Jon whispered.  "I needed some advice."

The Queen nodded knowingly.  "Did you receive the answers you were looking for?" she asked him.

"No," the King stated morosely.  He gently caressed his wife's hand.  "I was just thinking that perhaps you were right about the best way to deal with Littlefinger and this Aegon character, whoever he truly is.  Perhaps we should destroy them with fire and blood."  He looked deeply into Dany's violet eyes and contemplated how beautiful and regal she looked in her formal red and gold silk dress, her golden crown sitting atop her flowing silver hair.  As he thought about his wife's beauty, Jon knew that he would do anything to keep her and their children safe.  He would rip up the Charter, disband the Council, and rule as a tyrant if it meant they would be protected.

"I know what you are contemplating, Jon," Dany replied softly, "and you shouldn't do it.  You were right to temper my initial impulses.  We cannot build a just world if we resort to such violence and tyranny."  She caressed his cheek with her right hand.  "Abandoning your honor would destroy you, My King.  You would no longer be my Jon, the compassionate and just man who I love."

Jon smiled slightly.  "It may be the only way, Dany," he whispered as he continued to caress his wife's hand.

"Perhaps not, My King," the Queen stated.  "There are always politics and alliances.  We have enough troops to deter the Aegon and Littlefinger from issuing anything more than empty threats and there are ways to solidify our alliances through marriage contracts."  Dany tilted her head slightly and looked toward the right side of the high table where Sansa and Arya were happily chattering away.

"Aye," the King stated as he looked at his sisters.  "Sansa's engagement to Ser Wilhelm seems to have been well received by the Court.  Perhaps the newly strengthened ties with the Manderleys along with the Royal Visit to Winterfell will help ease the concerns of the Northern lords."  Jon still doubted that it would be enough to appease the restless North but he wished to remain optimistic for his wife's sake.

"I wasn't thinking just about Sansa's marriage," Dany explained carefully.  "You have two sisters, Jon."

"I doubt that Arya would consent to a political match, My Queen," he reminded her, "nor do I think that many of the lords could handle marriage to such an independent, spirited woman."

"That isn't necessarily true, Jon.  As the King's sister, Arya will never want for potential suitors," his wife countered.  "In fact, Lady Melessa Tarly mentioned a potential match between Dickon and Arya at the last sewing circle."

"Absolutely not," the King replied forcefully.  "I will not consent to that match.  Lord Tarly is nothing more than a petty tyrant."

"Arya would be marrying Dickon Tarly, not his father, Jon," Dany pointed out.  "By all accounts, Dickon is a fine lad, more like Sam than Randyll Tarly.  He would treat your sister kindly."

Jon looked at his wife skeptically.  He wouldn't use Arya as a pawn to secure an army.  He had promised his father that he would protect his siblings, that he alone would bear the burdens of ruling.  Jon wouldn't force his beloved sister into a loveless, arranged marriage.  He refused to do that to Arya.

"It is a marriage contract, not a death sentence," Dany replied gently as she tried to ease Jon's discomfort over her proposition.  She kissed him softly on his cheek.

"My family shouldn't have to sacrifice anymore.  I alone should bear those burdens.  I promised my father that," the King whispered sadly.

The Queen frowned.  "I didn't know marriage to me was such a sacrifice, My King."

"It isn't, Dany," Jon reassured her.  "You and our babies are the only things that make bearing the other burdens possible."

"We'll be leaving for Winterfell soon, My Love," she reminded him softly.

He sighed and looked deeply into his wife's violet eyes.  It was near impossible to deny Dany anything she wished when she looked at him lovingly as she was now.  "I'll speak with Arya about Dickon Tarly.  She doesn't have to agree to marry the lad, just to perhaps consider the idea," he relented reluctantly.

Dany smiled.  "I knew that you would come around to my thinking on this matter, Jon," she replied happily.  She firmly kissed him on the lips much to the King's surprise and the raucous delight of the Court.

"Allow the King to get some air, Your Grace," Ser Jon Fossoway laughed heartily.

"We'll be celebrating the birth of another dragon in short order," another anonymous courtier slurred loudly.

Jon turned bright red and pulled away from his wife's embrace.  He wanted to continue kissing his wife passionately but was embarrassed by the drunk catcalls ringing through the Banqueting Hall.   _I'll never get used to my entire life constantly being on display_ , he thought wistfully.

Dany sensed his unease and winked at him.  "Perhaps some music and dancing," she ordered merrily.

"As long as our gracious king and queen lead us on the dance floor," Ser Jon Fossoway yelled merrily to the cheers of the Court.

Jon's face turned an even brighter shade of red at that request.  He doubted that many courtiers would appreciate their clumsy king tripping over them on the ballroom floor.

"You'll be fine," his wife laughed.  "You didn't step on my toes once when we danced the past month at the Midsummer Ball."

Jon laughed and stood up before offering Dany his hand and leading her onto the ballroom floor.  The King and Queen began dancing a lively reel followed by the other courtiers.  "I love you, Daenerys," he whispered.  She kissed him firmly again as Jon spun her around the floor.  He didn't step on her toes once as Dany had promised he wouldn't.

When the song ended, Jon allowed Ser Wilhelm Manderley to have the next dance with his wife.  He looked up at the high table where Arya was nursing a mug of ale and smiled at her.  _Perhaps now is as good a time as ever to discuss a marriage contract with Dickon Tarly,_ he thought.  He walked toward Arya's seat.  "Lady Arya, may I have this dance," he asked her as he held out his hand.

"I don't dance," his sister stated as she took another swig from her ale tankard and adjusted her simple white and gray dress with direwolf insignia intricately stitched on it.  "You know I have two left feet."

"As do I, Sister," the King laughed as he continued to hold out his hand.  "We will trip over all the great lords and ladies of Westeros and they will all be scandalized and gossip about how the King and his beloved sister stepped on their toes while they danced."

Arya sipped her ale and rolled her eyes at Jon's futile attempt at humor.

Jon sighed, "Can you please indulge your brother?  There is something I wish to speak to you about."

His sister gave him a silent shrug and allowed Jon to lead him out onto the floor amid the whirling couples and the lively music.

"Arya," the King began delicately as he spun her around on the floor.  "I was wondering about your thoughts on marriage."

"I am not marrying Dickon Tarly," his sister stated pointedly and wrinkled her nose.

Jon looked at his sister quizzically.  "How?" he asked.

"Talla Tarly mentioned that perhaps she and I would soon be sisters," Arya replied.

Jon sighed.  "Aye, Lady Tarly approached Dany at the last sewing circle about a possible marriage between you and Dickon," he admitted.  "I promised Dany I'd speak to you about the matter."

"You've spoken to me about it and the answer is no.  Now can we please drop the blasted subject?" Arya replied exasperatedly as they made another turn around the ballroom floor.

"Perhaps you can just meet with Dickon.  He seems quite nice, more like his mother and Sam than his father," the King suggested.  "He cannot be worse than Ryman Tyrell or any of your other affairs."

"I said no, Jon," Arya stated forcefully, nearly bumping into a nearby couple in the process.  His sister frowned at him.  "Why are you so adamant about this silly marriage?  I thought that you of all people would realize how ridiculous these Court games are."

"The Crown is facing a potentially serious threat from Littlefinger and the Iron Bank.  You are well aware of that," Jon replied.  "We may need the Reach's armies.  A stronger alliance with the Tarlys would ensure they come to our aid if called upon to do so."

"Why can't I just eliminate the threat for you?  You know I am perfectly capable of that," Arya pointed out.

"There are political complications that make that impossible," Jon stated plainly.  "I cannot just order the assassination of a duly appointed representative to the Iron Bank."

"You won't let me help you eliminate the threat for you because of stupid political considerations and your damn moral code," his sister snapped.  "Instead, you want to sell me to the highest bidder as a broodmare."

"Arya, you are being overly dramatic.  I would never treat you in such a manner," the King replied testily.  "All I am asking you to do is consider a potential marriage with Dickon Tarly.  Not even agree to the marriage, but just be open to the possibility of such a match."

"And I told you no," Arya growled.  The courtiers around Jon and his sister stopped dancing and began whispering.

The King stopped spinning his sister around the dance floor.  "You are acting like a spoiled child rather than a grown woman.  You are the King's advisor and a member of the Small Council.  With that power comes certain responsibilities and sacrifices," Jon whispered loudly.  He frowned at his sister; he was disappointed by her unreasonable reaction to his request.  "It is a political marriage, not a death sentence.  I had hoped to reason with you as your brother, Arya, but it seems that you would rather throw a childish tantrum.  You will allow Dickon Tarly to court you.  That is an order from your king."

"Fine, Your Grace.  Be a tyrant," his sister snapped before she stormed out of the Banqueting Hall leaving the King in the middle of the ballroom floor.

The King wanted to run after Arya but he knew that it would lead to even more disapproving whispers among the courtiers who had already stopped dancing and were watching the scene that was unfolding before them with their mouths agape.  Instead, Jon watched his sister leave the Hall alone and walked slowly back to the high table.  The King sat down with Ghost nestled at his feet and began rubbing his forehead as the weight of his crown bore down on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arya's love life plays a huge role in the endgame. Fan fictions in this universe where everyone chooses their own spouse and pairs off are too modern for my tastes. What Jon is suggesting really is not unreasonable especially given his own marriage, which began as a political arrangment.


	13. Sam I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Alleras uncover rumblings of treason in the Citadel

Sam thought about what Gilly asked him constantly.  He thought about it when he taught his students and when he searched for the right books in the libraries for his research.  Thoughts of Kings Landing and the Court and his father and his best friend preoccupied him to the point where he was unable to concentrate on calculus and Valyrian verb conjugations and chemistry.  It wasn't that he didn't want to see Jon.  He missed his best friend dearly.  However, Sam didn't want to go back to the world he had left when he joined the Night's Watch - the backstabbing and politicking of the Court. the feeling of ostracism for being different.  He had finally found a place where he belonged, where his talents were appreciated.   _Jon has his crown and his family and I have my books and my family_ , he thought as he leafed through another book on Targaryen history.   _Our two worlds should remain separate._

"Sam!" Alleras exclaimed.  "I've found some interesting letters about Aegon's conquest.  It seems that the conquest of the North was more brutal than the official accounts suggest."

"Aye," Sam stated.  "I am sure you are right.  The North remembers and they despise Targaryens for a reason."

Alleras smiled at him.  "You seem distracted," the acolyte observed.  "Is it about Gilly's suggestion - about the King?"

"Yes," Sam admitted.  He walked toward the interior shelves of the library to search for a dusty volume he needed to finish his historical notes on Old Valyria.

"You should go with her," Alleras told him again.  "Why ostracize yourself from a friend like that?  Whatever happened between you and the King is water under the bridge."

Sam sighed.  "We didn't have a falling out, Alleras," he stated as he pulled a dusty Valyrian scroll from the shelves.  "It is just I have no desire to return to King's Landing, to that world."

"So you are hiding from your father?" the Dornish acolyte observed.

"If you want to put it like that," Sam stated raising his voice and earning disapproving stares from other scholars in the library.

"I didn't mean to bring up a sore point," Alleras apologized.  "I understand being alienated from your family."

Sam nodded.  "That is fine, Alleras," he smiled at the young man and patted him on the shoulder.  Sam liked the young acolyte, but he didn't particularly wish to speak about his family or his friend.  He wished Alleras would just drop the subject.  Sam went back to studying the Valyrian scrolls he had been reading in silence.

A young pageboy softly tapped on Sam's back.  "I have a message from the Clinic, sir," the young boy squeaked.  "Archmaester Marwyn wishes to see you."

Sam grumbled.  He wasn't in the mood for an enigmatic talk or wild goose chase today.   _Can I just finish my research in peace?_ he thought exasperatedly as he looked at the scruffy young page.  "Did the Archmaester say what he needs?" Sam asked more gruffly than he wished.

"No, sir.  Just that it was important," the page replied softly, clearly intimidated by Sam's curt tone.

"That is fine, lad," Sam reassured the boy.  "Tell Archmaester Marwyn that I will see him anon."  He patted the page on his head and sent him on his way.

Alleras pursed his lips.  "Another riddle to solve?" he observed knowingly.

"More likely than not," Sam sighed to his fellow acolyte.  He dropped his scholar and began walking from the Great Library toward the Clinic.

Alleras followed.  "Why do you put up with Marwyn's demands?" he asked.  "The archmaester seems to be up to something suspicious."

"Yes, he probably is up to something treasonous," Sam concurred as he walked from the library and through the winding sunlit halls of the Citadel.  "I agree with that sentiment as does Ser Jorah.  However, we have no proof of his treasons and he has saved the Queen Daenerys' life.  Without his skill, Her Majesty would have likely succumbed to bleeding after giving birth to Princess Rhaella.  The King won't remove him from the Citadel or banish him from the inner Court because of that fact alone, regardless of our suspicions and even Jon's own."

"So Marwyn is allowed to freely plot and scheme about whatever because of services rendered to the Queen?" Alleras asked quizzically.

"To put it bluntly, yes he is," Sam replied.  He looked at his fellow acolyte.  "Have you ever been in love, Alleras?"

The Dornishman shook his head.  "I've always had my head in the books instead," he admitted.

Sam sighed.  "You'll find out if you ever fall in love that a man will do anything to protect a woman who he loves, even ignore another man's dangerous plots and schemes.  Jon isn't different from any other man in this regard just because he wears a crown."

"Indeed," Alleras stated, but the look on the young man's face suggested that he disagreed with Sam's statement.  The acolyte, however, let the subject slide and continued following Sam toward the Clinic.

When they arrived at the Clinic, the acolytes found Marwyn at his usual spot in the apothecary barking out orders as acolytes and maesters scurried around.  "Ahh, there you are Sam.  I was beginning to wonder if the page had gotten lost on the way to the Library," Marwyn stated gruffly.  "And I see that you brought Alleras with you.  The more the merrier I always say."

"You wanted to see me about something, Archmaester Marwyn," Sam replied curtly.  He was in no mood to deal with Marwyn's games, especially since they were taking time away from his research.

"Yes, I heard that you would be visiting King's Landing within the fortnight and I need you to deliver some medicines to the Queen.  They should help with her remission," Marwyn stated discreetly as he rummaged through the supplies beneath his desk until he found the small satchel he was looking for.  "Give these to Maester Ebrose.  He'll know what to do with them."  He handed the bag to Sam.  "And be discreet about it.  Few know the truth about the Queen's condition and Their Graces have ordered that it be kept secret."  Marwyn absentmindedly rifled through the parchments on a nearby table.  "Give Her Majesty my regrets that I cannot deliver these medicines to her myself.  My research is taking longer than I expected.  I am hoping to visit the Court early in the new year."

Sam grabbed the satchel gingerly.  "How...  You aren't spying on me with... you know," he asked confusedly.

"No Sam," Marwyn replied plainly.  "I don't use the candles to randomly spy on people, especially not my favorite mentee.  I heard about Gilly's royal commission from Mistress Oakley."

"Oh," Sam said relieved.  "Then you will also know that I haven't agreed to go with my wife to King's Landing."

"But she will need to travel to the Court regardless of whether or not you do.  The Queen cannot wear an ill-fitting dress to the ball closing of the Council after all," Marwyn observed.

"Archmaester, there is another case of the pox," an acolyte exclaimed.  "I don't know what to do for this one."

Marwyn looked at the harried acolyte.  "Did you try a honeyflower rub?" he yelled exasperatedly.

"A honeyflower rub?" the intimidated young scholar asked.

"I showed how to make one just a week ago," Marwyn mentioned.

The acolyte looked at Marwyn befuddled.

"Come then," Marwyn told the acolyte.  The archmaester looked apologetically at Sam and Alleras.  "I am sorry to leave you in such a hurry, lads, but duty calls."  He nodded a farewell go both of them.  "Make sure that medicine gets to the Queen either by your hand or your wife's."

"Is that all?  There are no riddles for me to solve," Sam whispered tentatively.

"Riddles?" Marwyn asked sharply.  "Why would I make up cryptic puzzles for you to solve.  I am a busy man."  The archmaester then nodded another farewell to Sam and Alleras and followed the acolyte out of the apothecary.

Sam looked at Alleras confused as he watched Marwyn leave.  "That is all?" he stated as he looked down at the bag of medicines.  "That cannot be all."

"Perhaps he just needed a favor from you?" Alleras suggested.

"No that is not all," Sam insisted.  "That is never the case with Marwyn."  He eyed the discarded parchments on the archmaester's desk.  "Would you help me review Marwyn's papers?" he asked as he began sifting through the Archmaester's papers.

Alleras nodded and began quickly scanning through the pile.  His face turned pale after a few moments.  "Sam," he whispered.  "These documents are all about dragons.  This one is about methods kill dragons."  He pointed to the parchment.

"Gods," Sam thought.  He looked at the parchments.  Was Marwyn trying to neutralize the Targaryen dragons?

"What are you going to do, Sam?" Alleras asked.

"Jon needs to know," Sam whispered.  "I have to go to King's Landing and inform him."


	14. Arya II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya runs into an old friend

Arya glowered as she inspected the construction of the latest flagship in the Royal Fleet.  She was angry with Jon for suggesting that she marry Dickon Tarly.   _Jon wishes for me to be some broodmare_ , she reminded herself sadly.  Arya had thought her brother had thought more of her, that he respected her intellect and trusted her advice.  But he really just saw her as a pawn to trade to secure his reign.   _He only cares about what Daenerys tells him now_ , she thought angrily.  Arya seethed about how that high strung, bossy Targaryen continued to worm her way into her brother's affections.

"Your Highness, how do the ships look?" the shipbuilder asked Arya, jolting her momentarily from her angry thoughts.

"I am concerned about the quality of the wood," Arya replied as she knocked on the front mast.  "This mast is flimsy, likely constructed of cheap wood from the Reach.  The boat is liable to fall apart in a storm.  I ordered you to only use high-quality oak from the North."

"My Lady, the wood from the Reach is cheaper," the shipbuilder argued.

"If it is cheaper, then why hasn't the Crown seen any of the savings?" Arya inquired pointedly as she glared at the man.  "Perhaps you would like to explain this cost discrepancy to Their Graces?"

The man looked at her fearfully.  "I will make sure that only Northern oak is used for the rest of the ship, My Lady," he stated with a quick, trembling bow.

"No, you will rebuild the entire ship, return the money you stole from the Crown's coffers, and ask for Their Majesties' pardon in front of the entire Court," Arya ordered angrily.  "Be grateful that my brother is more merciful than I am."

"Yes, Your Highness," the shipbuilder replied with another timid bow.

Arya adjusted Needle in its sheath, yawned slightly, and walked from the ship onto the docks.  She had spent the past three years dealing with such petty things like the quality of ship wood and she was tired and bored with everything.  There was no longer a list for her to complete and no further adventures for her to partake in.  All that remained was the tedium of ruling and the political games of the Court.   _And damn marriage contracts_ , she thought bitterly as she walked along the docks.

"My Lady," Harrion called out to her.  "We ought to be going back to the Red Keep now.  The King will be worried about where you are if we stay out any longer."

Arya glanced at the squadron of soldiers that had accompanied her on her inspection.  "You should return to the Red Keep without me, Harrion," Arya stated.  "I need some time alone to think."

The captain frowned.  "I promised the King I would keep an extra eye on you due to everything happening with Littlefinger and the Council and all.  His Majesty will skin me alive if anything happens to you."

 _Yes, the King must protect his prize broodmare.  It would be horrible if anything happened to me before he had a chance to sell me to Dickon Tarly_ , Arya thought angrily.  She rolled her eyes.  "Jon knows that I am perfectly capable of protecting myself," she stated.  "You and your men are dismissed, Harrion.  I will find my own way back to the Red Keep."

Harrion frowned.  "That is inadvisable, Your Highness," he argued delicately.  "The King is concerned about his family's safety."

Arya rolled her eyes again.  "I don't particularly care about my brother's feelings on this matter," she said offhandedly.  She looked at the captain.  "I advise you to drop this matter, Harrion, or else I may be compelled to tell His Majesty that you have been sneaking your girls into the Dragon Pit when you are supposed to be on duty."

Harrion's face turned bright red and he mumbled some curses under his breath.  "Right lads, we are returning to the Red Keep without Lady Arya," he ordered his men sullenly.  Harrion glared at her.  "I can't keep doing you favors like this, Your Highness.  The King is bound to catch on one of these days," the guard grumbled as he left with his men.

Arya smiled broadly as she watched the squadron of soldiers ride their horses back to the Red Keep.  It was exhilarating to be free of the constraints of the Court and the weight of her responsibilities - at least temporarily.  She snuck away from her docks and into the back alleys of Flea Bottom.

"Fancy seeing a nice high born lady like yourself in a place like this," a voice called out to her from the shadows as Arya walked through the darkened maze of alleys.

 _Damn thieving pickpocket thinks that I am easy prey_ , Arya grumbled as she unsheathed Needle and spun behind her to face her attacker.  She was shocked to see two familiar brown eyes staring back at her rather than an anonymous fiend.  "Are you a ghost?" she asked the interloper with disbelief.

"If I was, then you would not be able to point that sword of yours at my chest," he pointed out reasonably with a broad smile on his face.

"Gendry!" she shouted as she dropped Needle on the ground and gave her old friend a bear hug.

"Hello there, Arya," Gendry replied with a laugh.  "Or should I use My Lady or Your Highness?" he teased her.

Arya grimaced as she pulled out of Gendry's embrace and bent to the ground to retrieve Needle.  "I would prefer that you not use those titles," she said.

Gendry laughed even more heartily.  "I see that being the King's sister and a royal advisor hasn't changed you one bit.  You are still the same Arya," he commented.  "So how have you been?  I mean other than being annoyed when people address you as My Lady."

Arya sheathed Needle and shrugged her shoulders.  "I dunno," she admitted. "Okay, I guess.  Ruling is pretty tedious."  She laughed.  "I would prefer to hear what you have been up to, Gendry.  I am sure that it is much more fascinating than inspecting the newest royal flagships."

"Blacksmithing is fairly tedious as well," Gendry replied wryly.

"But how did you escape the Red Woman?  I thought you would be killed for sure when the Brotherhood sold you to her," Arya asked.

"Ser Davos helped me escape from Dragonstone to King's Landing by rowboat," Gendry replied.  "I heard that he was killed during the Great War.  It is a pity.  He was a good man, one of the only few actual good men I've ever met."

Arya smiled sadly.  Davos' death remained a sore subject with Jon and something that she had learned it was best not to bring up.  "Could we perhaps talk about something happier?" she whispered with a frown on her face.

"Indeed," Gendry concurred.  "It would be awful for a chance meeting between two old friends to focus only on sadness and death."  He gestured to a nearby tavern.  "Why don't we go get a pint or two and you can tell me about inspecting ships and I will discuss the intricacies of blacksmithing."  He smiled.  "That is if princesses drink ale," he added as a teasing aside.

"This one does," Arya stated with a chuckle as she followed Gendry to the nearby tavern and away from the Royal Court with its expectations, political games, and, of course, marriage contracts.  At least temporarily.

* * *

It was dusk when Arya finally left Gendry at the tavern.  She walked back toward the Red Keep through the alleyways and sewers that she had become accustomed to using in the three years she had lived in King's Landing, hiding in the shadows as she crept back to the palace

When she slipped into her rooms, Arya found Sansa unexpectedly sitting in her solar.  Her sister frowned.  "You missed dinner," she observed solemnly as she rose from her seat and walked toward Arya.  "And you smell of ale."

"I was by the docks inspecting the Royal Fleet, Sansa," Arya stated nonchalantly.  "It took longer than I anticipated."

"Harrion and his men returned from the docks hours ago," her sister replied angrily.  "Where have you been?"

Arya smiled.  "Meeting with an old friend," she stated casually as she walked into her solar.

"Arya, you cannot just disappear like that," Sansa hissed.  "Jon was concerned when you didn't show up for dinner and was ready to send the entire City Guard out searching for you.  I had to lie and say that you were unwell."  Her sister grabbed the sleeve of her tunic.  "You are being childish about this potential marriage contract with Dickon Tarly.  Rulers have to make compromises.  Jon isn't asking for you to make any sacrifice that he himself hasn't made, that I haven't made."

Arya grumbled.  "He wants to sell me as a broodmare."

Sansa pursed her lips.  "So Jon must have sold himself as a broodmare when he married Daenerys."

"It is different," Arya insisted forcefully.  "I shouldn't have to marry if I don't wish."

"Aye, you can run off with your faces.  That seems to be your preferred way of dealing with the unpleasant realities of life," Sansa observed curtly.  Her sister walked from the rooms and slammed the door.

Arya slumped in a seat near the window, her hands planted in her face.  She sat there for a long time amid the shadows, contemplating the jolly time she had with Gendry and the stifling expectations placed upon her by the Royal Court and even her own family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So complications... I would just issue a warning to Arya/Gendry "shippers" that you will be disappointed how this story ends if you think that they are just going to ride off into the sunset together. I really didn't like Gendry's reappearance in Season 7 and don't like scenarios where an illiterate blacksmith ends up as Lord of Storm's End and marries Arya. This is A Song of Ice and Fire, not Disney.


	15. Petyr IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr and Aegon strike up an alliance with Dorne

Petyr looked out of the windows from his manse overlooking the lower markets and onto the people going about their every day lives below.  The small stone manse was by no means luxurious, but it was in a prime location for listening and learning about the moods of Westeros.  As a boy ignored and scorned by the elite, Petyr had grown adept at hiding and listening, a skill that had served him well so far.

"What are you doing?" snapped Aegon as he entered the room.

"Observing and listening, Your Grace," Petyr replied calmly.  "They are good skills for a king to develop."

Aegon snapped, "That is why I have you, Lord Baelish.  A good servant should do such tasks for his liege so a king doesn't have to involve himself in such trivial pursuits."

 _Yes, My Dear Aegon, continue to believe that_ , Petyr thought snidely.   _It is why you will end up dead.  Hopefully soon._ He rubbed his head discretely.   _I don't think I will be able to survive years of headaches induced by your whining._

Aegon looked out the window anxiously.  "You said that they'd be here soon," he snapped.  "Where are they?"

"Indeed, they will, My King," Petyr reassured the young man.  "But they have to leave the Red Keep discreetly.  There are soldiers patrolling everywhere."

"Why do we have to be discreet?" Aegon asked angrily.  "We should march up to the Red Keep and I should declare myself the rightful heir before the Court."

 _Yes, that worked so well last time, imbecile_ , Petyr observed to himself.   _Unless, of course, you were planning to get laughed at by incredulous servants and manhandled by the Crown's bodyguards._ He smiled at Aegon stoically.  "I've always found that slow and careful plots work better than risky gambles," he counseled blandly.  "Patience is key, My King."

"I am tired of being patient," growled Aegon. 

"Lord Baelish," a timid footman entered the parlor with a bow.  "Lady Ellaria Sand and her daughter Nymeria are here to see you."

"Show them into the parlor," Petyr stated coolly.  "And bring our guests some refreshments - a Dornish red wine and some figs and dates will do."

The servant nodded his head and left.  Petyr smiled at Aegon.  "As I was saying, patience is key," he stated triumphantly.

The footman returned quickly followed by the two Dornishwomen.  "Lady Ellaria Sand and her daughter, Nymeria Sand, My Lord," he stated with a formal bow.

Petyr rose to greet his guests.  "My Lady Ellaria, it has been so long since I've seen you but you remain a vision," he stated smoothly.  "And your daughter is a carbon copy of you and our dear late Oberyn."

Ellaria glared at him.  "I have no time for your games, Lord Baelish," she snapped.  "We shouldn't even be here.  The Crown has increased the patrols and Lord Varys is watching your manse.  It was near impossible to get here undetected."

"And yet you are here despite the difficulties, Lady Ellaria," Petyr observed.  "Let me introduce you to the reason you are here."  He motioned toward Aegon.  "This is His Majesty, Aegon Targaryen, the Sixth of His Name, the son of Rhaegar and Elia and the rightful king of Westeros."

Ellaria walked up to Aegon and inspected him closely.  "You look nothing like Elia or Rhaegar," she stated disdainfully.  "You are weak."

Aegon glared at her.  "I am the rightful king," he spat out.

"Yes, I heard that you already declared that to Their Majesties and got laughed out of the Red Keep," Lady Sand snorted.  "The jesters had a fine time entertaining the Court with retellings of that incident.  Even His Grace laughed heartily."

Aegon face turned red with fury.  "My brother has stolen my Throne.  I will execute him for treason once I retake what I rightfully lost," he growled.  "His constant mockery of me just ensures that his death will be painful."

Nymeria Sand rolled her eyes at the Targaryen prince.  "Threatening the life of the King is a capital crime, My Lord," she replied drolly.  "And last I checked, Jaeherys Targaryen was the one wearing the crown, not you."

Aegon stalked away from the Dornishwomen and toward the window.

Petyr looked at Ellaria Sand and her daughter wryly.  "I am sure. Lady Ellaria, that you didn't come here despite the danger just to spew insults," he observed calmly.  "Perhaps you would like to see the proof that convinced me of Aegon Targaryen's story."

"I would indeed, Lord Baelish," Lady Sand stated.

Lord Baelish produced the parchment attesting to Aegon's identity and handed it to Ellaria Sand.  "My Lady, I am sure that you will find the presence of Oberyn's seal on this document most intriguing."

"Indeed, I do, Lord Baelish," Ellaria stated as she examined the document.

"So Dorne is willing to join our cause?" Baelish asked cautiously.

"No," Lady Sand replied plainly.  "It is too risky.  I have my disagreements with the King and Queen but I won't bring Dorne into a war against the Crown for the sake of such a weak king as that one claiming to be Aegon Targaryen."

Aegon turned around and glared at her silently.

Petyr smiled knowingly.  "What can I do to make you reconsider, My Lady?" he inquired calmly.

A small smile crept onto Ellaria's face and her eyes narrowed into a fierce look.  "I want the same terms Daenerys Targaryen gave her husband.  I want independence for Dorne and marriage between one of my daughters and Aegon Targaryen," she replied sharply.

"The King will need to approve any such deal, Lady Ellaria," Petyr stated sycophantly as he looked at Aegon and tried to assuage the ingrate's ego.  "But I believe that your terms are fair."

Ellaria smirked.  "I will think about it, Lord Baelish," she stated curtly.  She nodded slightly to her hosts and both Dornishwomen exited the parlor silently.

Aegon grumbled.  "What arrogance!" he spat out.  "I am not marrying one of that Dornish bitch's bastard daughters."

"My Lord, we need to make concessions right now," Petyr said.  "We need to show the Iron Bank support from the nobles if you wish them to make you a loan for sellswords."  He looked at his angry pawn.  "Ellaria Sand is a selfish and arrogant woman who needed some reassurances from us in return for her support."  Petyr walked over to Aegon by the window.  "Words are just that - words.  I've always found the terms of these contracts can be renegotiated."   _Just like I plan on renegotiating the terms of our relationship_ , Baelish added silently.

Aegon nodded apparently appeased by Petyr's words.  "My brother's time on the Throne is limited," he sneered.  "The crown seems so real that I can almost feel it on my head."

 _Yes_ , _i_ _t did seem like Jaeherys Targaryen's luck was running out_ , Petyr thought coolly as he looked at his Targaryen pawn.   _Soon I will have what I am owed - both Sansa Stark and the Throne of Westeros._


	16. Jorah I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam consults Jorah about his suspicions with the Citadel. A ghost from Ser Jorah's past returns to Oldtown.

The Lord Protector of Oldtown smiled cautiously as he perused the trade accounts again.  Trade between Essos and Westeros was booming and the stores and markets of Oldtown were teeming with exotic spices and silks and fruits and wines.  New gleaming white buildings had been erected in the past three years and evidence of the Great War had been erased except for the occasional char mark on a stone building.  Young couples courted and children frolicked on the promenade along the sparkling Honeywine River.  Prosperity and peace had come to the glistening white city again.

However, as with many veterans of the Great War, such prosperity and peace had not arrived for the Lord Protector of Oldtown.  Jorah remained unsettled and uneasy about the peace that had come.  He thought often about his queen and her safety and about the intrigues swirling around the Citadel.   _I cannot love you openly, Daenerys Targaryen, but I can protect you_ , he thought softly.

There was a stiff rap at the door as Jorah perused the accounts again.  "Enter," he ordered as he set the accounts aside.

"My Lord, Master Samwell Tarly is here to see you from the Citadel," a sentry said as he opened the door with a slight bow.

Jorah rose from he seat and walked to the door to greet Sam.  "Please come in, Sam," he said with a smile.  "It is always a pleasure to see you."

Sam nodded and entered the room quietly.  The frown on the young man's face suggested that there was something wrong.

Jorah looked at Sam concerned.  "What is wrong, Sam?" he inquired patiently.

"I am sure that you know that Gilly is going to King's Landing," Sam replied softly.

"Aye," Jorah said.  "I heard about the dress that she is sewing for the Queen.  Your wife is quite the fashionable dressmaker with her royal commissions now, isn't she?"

Sam nodded.  "I've decided the children and I will be going to King's Landing with her," he stated solemnly.

"A wise idea," the Lord Protector concurred.  "I am sure that His Majesty will be glad to see you.  It's been three years since you have seen him."

Sam shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

Jorah eyed the young man.  "You still haven't told me what is wrong," he observed.

The young acolyte fidgeted with the parchments on Jorah's desk.  "Alleras and I found some papers on Marwyn's desk which suggest that he is interested in neutralizing the Targaryen's dragons," he whispered.  "I don't think that Marwyn meant for us to see this."

Jorah sighed.  "Or perhaps he did," he observed.  "Archmaester Marwyn has been involved in elaborate deceptions for three years now.  I am certain that he is involved in treason against the Crown, but I have been unable to find any proof.  He has been careful at covering up his tracks."

"So what should we do about his latest deception?" Sam asked quietly.

"You will go to King's Landing as planned," Jorah stated.  "Even if it is a trick on Marwyn's part, someone ought to warn Their Majesties."  He sighed as he looked down at his accounts again.  "And I will investigate your suspicions at the Citadel with the help of your friend.  Alleras, you said his name was?"

"Yes," Sam sighed.  "Alleras Sand is his name."

Jorah smiled.  "A bastard of which family?" he asked delicately.

"I don't know," Sam whispered uncomfortably.  "We don't speak of our families."

Jorah frowned.  For all he knew, this boy was a spy for the Citadel meant to lure Sam into his confidences.

Sam studied Jorah's face.  "I know that you think I should be more cautious about who I befriend, but I trust Alleras.  He has done nothing to betray that trust yet," he responded quietly.  "I do not want to become like a courtier in King's Landing  ascribing ill intentions to every person I meet and constantly looking over my shoulder."

Jorah smiled.  "I don't want you to become paranoid, just wary.  The Citadel is not the snakepit of the Court, but as you yourself are acutely aware, there are still plots afoot even here."  The Lord Protector rose from his seat and directed the young acolyte to the office door.  "Thank you for bringing your concerns to my attention.  I will contact your friend, Alleras, and investigate them.  I promise you," he reassured the young man as he turned to leave.

"Thank you, Ser Jorah.  You are a true friend and mentor," Sam replied before he left the office.

"Safe journeys, Sam," Jorah said.  "Give my greetings to the Queen."  He nodded sadly as he thought about Daenerys longingly.   _That cannot be_ , he reminded himself resigned as he walked away from the doorway.  And the Lord Protector of Oldtown went back to his desk and leafed through parchments as he thought how to uncover the plots in the Citadel and protect his queen.

After moments of long silence, he heard another rap on the door.  "Enter," he said sharply annoyed to be interrupted from his thoughts about his queen and her safety.

A guard entered with a quick bow.  "My Lord Protector, there is another visitor here to see you."

"If it is not urgent, please tell the supplicant I am busy," Jorah ordered sharply.

The guard nodded taken aback by Jorah's harsh tone.  He nodded slightly and turned to leave the office only to be brushed aside by a stately woman with silver blonde hair.

"Hello, dear husband," the woman sniffed with an indifferent look on her face, the ample skirts of her light blue travel dress swishing as she sauntered into the room.  "It has been quite a few years."

"Lynesse?" Jorah inquired looking at his former wife with a mixture of shock and horror.  He gulped and sank into his desk chair as he contemplated the unexpected - and unwanted - return of a ghost he thought he had left in Essos.


	17. Jon IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany manage the politics of the Council and Jon reconciles with Arya.

Jon shifted his shoulders slightly on his hard, uncomfortable wooden throne.  He tried to keep his restlessness undetected by the great lords and ladies below.  _I cannot show my weaknesses to them,_ the King reminded himself.   _I must appear as a stoic monarch unhindered by any such worries._ However, Littlefinger's sudden appearance and his conflict with Arya and even the rhythms of the Council itself were making it more difficult for Jon to hide his continued doubts and discomfort.  His desire to protect his family and to rule as a just and merciful king were constantly at odds.  _I should do as Dany suggests and get rid of Littlefinger and Aegon.  I could do it with the flick of the wrist_ , he reasoned with himself.   _And I shouldn't feel so troubled about accepting the Tarlys' marriage proposal on Arya's behalf.  It is a reasonable request, not a death sentence._ The King readjusted his crown.  Doubts crept into his head as they always did whenever he was tempted to rule with fire and blood.   _The Charter exists for a reason_ , he reminded himself.   _What right do I have to rule as a tyrant?  Why are the lives and happiness of my family more important than the lives of my people?   What right do I have to force Arya to marry?_ Jon looked forlornly out over his people as doubts swirled through his head.  He wished for not the first time that his father or Davos was here to counsel him about what to do.

Dany sensed his disquiet and leaned over to grab his right hand.  "Arya will come to her senses and stop sulking in time," his wife whispered.  "You shouldn't be so hard on yourself.  You are only doing what needs to be done to maintain peace in the kingdom and to protect your family."

"That doesn't make it any less difficult," Jon whispered to his wife.

"Your Graces, Lord Rosby has asked for your opinion on the matters at hand," Tyrion reminded the King and Queen exasperatedly.  "About the new proposed roads in the Riverlands," he added.

"How is the Council proposing the roads be built again, Lord Tyrion?" the King asked.

"Through tolls, Your Majesty," the Crown's Hand whispered in an annoyed voiced.  "You would have known that already if you had been paying attention to the debate rather than daydreaming and brooding."

Jon glared at his Hand.  Tyrion's condescension could be incredibly grating.   _Maybe I should remove him and appoint someone else in his place - perhaps even Arya_ , he grumbled to himself.

Dany smiled slightly at Jon.  "And these tolls would be paid by all who pass on the roads?" she asked trying to redirect the conversation and to ease the tension between Tyrion and Jon.

"Indeed, My Queen," Lord Rosby replied.

"That seems quite unfair to burden the smallfolk with an additional tax," Dany commented.

"The Crown expects the lords to build the roads, Your Grace," Rosby countered, "and to maintain the roads and keep the Crown's peace afterward.  The lords must be compensated for their troubles."

"You, My Lords, will benefit the most from the new roads," Jon observed.  "It will increase your revenues by allowing for faster and more reliable travel.  Surely, you will be willing to bear some of the costs given the benefit."  The King looked sternly at the disapproving Rosby.

"My King, if I may interject," Tyrion stated cautiously, "perhaps allowing the lords to levy a toll on the new road is a better option.  The lords will tax the commoners to recoup the costs of the roads even if the Crown forbids such tolls.  It is more equitable that only those who use the roads pay the taxes on them."

"So you are saying, My Lord Hand, that the lords will take advantage of the Crown's generosity to impose further taxes on the people they rule?" the King asked testily.  He rubbed his forehead and looked out over the Representatives of the Council.  "The lords will help pay for the new roads and they will not pass any of the financial burdens onto their people," he snapped.  "That is a decree from the Throne."

"My King, perhaps it would be best to think this decision over.  The Council has determined that a toll for use of the new roads is warranted," Tyrion hissed frantically.

"The Council was created to advise the Crown, My Lord Hand," Jon snapped, "not replace it."  He glared at the suddenly silent Great Hall.  "I will not have the Crown's benevolence in sharing power with our lords abused to oppress the smallfolk."

"Your Grace," Tyrion began pleadingly.

"My decision is final," Jon ordered sharply.  He glanced at Dany who was regarding his outburst with stunned silence.  "Now what is the next matter that the Council wishes to discuss."

Dany eyed Jon worriedly.  "Perhaps we should end the Council business for the day," she suggested gently.

"Fine," the King grumbled.  He sighed angrily and rubbed his head.  "The business of the Council is adjourned until tomorrow."  Then Jon rose from his throne and strode out of the room followed by his wife and Tyrion.

"What has gotten into you, Jon?" Tyrion hissed when the three were finally alone.  "That outburst was uncalled for."

"I am just tired of all of it - of the Council, the Court, Littlefinger, the Iron Bank, marriage contracts, politics," the King snapped as he removed his crown and slammed it on the table.

"Yes, I guess we are in for another round of self-pity," Tyrion stated sarcastically as he walked over to the side table and poured himself a glass of wine.  "Poor Jon.  He wears the crown that every other noble in the Court covets.  He has a beautiful wife and two healthy children.  Let us say a prayer for the poor man."

The King glared at Tyrion.  "Shut up, Tyrion.  I am tired of your condescension and sarcasm," he shouted.  He walked over to Tyrion and snatched the glass out of his hands.  "In fact, I am relieving you of your position.  You are no longer Hand of the Crown, My Lord."  The King continued staring icily at Tyrion.  "Now leave this room."

"Silence," Dany interjected.  "Silence both of you."  The Queen looked at Tyrion.  "Your public dissent and condescension are highly inappropriate, My Lord.  You are a servant of the Crown and you will remember your place.  We appreciate your honest advice, but you cannot contradict us in public."  She then looked at Jon.  "And no, My King, we are not getting rid of Lord Tyrion as our Hand because you are angry with him.  You will regret such a hasty decision once you have calmed down."

"Dany, I mean it," the King replied sharply.  "I no longer want Tyrion as Hand."

"It is as much my decision as yours, Jon," the Queen stated.  "Tyrion stays."  She eyed the Hand cautiously.  "For now," she added curtly.

"Fine," Jon snarled.  He glared at his wife and his Hand.  "I need to spend some time hitting things with a sword," he stated as he stormed out of the antechamber and toward the practice yards.

When he arrived at the practice yards, Jon found that he wasn't the only one who needed to take out anger on a practice field.  He spied Arya smashing a practice dummy.  "I see I am not the only one who needs to take out some anger," Jon observed knowingly.

Arya grumbled at him and went back to smashing the dummy.

"You still aren't speaking to me?" Jon stated.

"Are you still planning to sell me as a broodmare?" Arya snapped.

"It is a political marriage, Arya, not a death sentence," Jon replied as he discarded his ornate cape and tunic on the ground and picked up a wooden practice sword.  "Perhaps give Dickon a chance?"

"I don't want to be bound in such a way to any man.  I want to be free to do as I please," his sister stated as she turned back to her practice dummy.

"Nobody has that freedom," Jon grumbled as he began working on his own practice dummy.  "Not even a king."  He glanced over at his sister.  "It would be good to do get some practice with an actual opponent," he suggested gently, "especially one who doesn't treat me with kid gloves because I'm king."

Arya eyed him annoyed by his suggestion.  "I said I'm angry with you, Jon," she snapped.

"You can take out some of your aggression on me then," Jon pointed out calmly.  "I have faith that you won't kill your beloved brother, even if you are mad at him."

"Fine," Arya replied.  She turned to face Jon with her sword at the ready.

Jon smiled slightly and parried the wooden blade to Arya.

Arya easily deflected it.  "That is the best you can do Jon," she taunted him gleefully.  "If you are that rusty with a blade, perhaps you actually do need all those bodyguards protecting you."

Jon laughed.  For the first time in ages, he felt truly happy.  "I thought I'd take it easy on you, being that you are my sister and all," he teased her.

Jon and Arya circled each other looking for openings to attack.  His sister lunged at him, a move which he easily sidestepped.  Jon then counterattacked only to be blocked again by Arya's blade.  She went to counter him with her blade, a wide smile on her face.

They went back and forth - lunging, parrying, circling, and sashaying.  Jon laughed and smiled as he saw a slight opening.  "You forgot that I fight dirty," he stated happily as he tapped his wooden practice blade on her shin, causing her to fall on her backside with a thud.  He laughed heartily at the sight of his sister sprawled on the ground.

Arya smirked.  "Jon, you've forgotten the first rule of sword fighting," she scolded him with mock seriousness.  "Never let your guard down with an opponent, even once you think is defeated."  Her right leg moved to kick his left shin.

Jon felt a sharp pain in his leg and fell down to his knees with a thud, his practice blade clattering on the ground.  "Thank you for providing me with that valuable reminder, Arya," he laughed.  "A king should definitely never let his guard down."

His sister giggled.  "So it is a draw, then."

"A draw," Jon said.  He pulled himself up off the ground and offered Arya a hand.  "So you will forgive me?" he asked her gently.  "I cannot bear to have you angry at me."

Arya's smile melted into a frown.  "Do you still intend to sell me in marriage to Dickon Tarly?" she replied quietly.

Jon pursed his lips.  He couldn't bear to see his sister, his Arya, so angry and unhappy.  "Nothing is set in stone," he whispered.  "Perhaps there is another way to appease Lord Tarly.  A marriage between Dickon and one of Lady Tyrell's great-nieces?  A seat on the Small Council even?"  Jon paused at the last suggestion.  He didn't wish to honor a man as unlikeable and strident as Lord Tarly with a place in the King's inner circle, but he would offer such an appointment if it meant Arya remained content.

"Thank you, Jon," Arya replied.  Her face melted into a wide grin and she jumped into his arms, giving him a bear hug and nearly pulling him down to the ground in the process.

Jon smiled.  "Now, there is the sister I love, not the forlorn creature who has been sulking around the Red Keep lately."  He placed his sister on the ground and looked deeply into her eyes.  "My family's happiness means the world to me, Arya.  I just want my siblings to be protected and content," he told her gently.

"I know, Jon.  I know," Arya reassured him solemnly.  Her eyes trailed around the practice fields as she spoke.

Jon sighed, "You aren't happy here, Sister.  You have been unsettled ever since the Great War ended."  He patted Arya on her left shoulder.  "Perhaps it would be best for you to remain at Winterfell after the Royal Court's visit," he suggested gently.  "You will be happier there than you are here in King's Landing."

"Only if you remain there with me," his sister replied gently as she pulled her arms around his torso and lay her head on his left shoulder.  "You hate it here as much as I do.  Stay at Winterfell and rule there as the North's King rather than returning to this snakepit."

Jon smiled sadly.  "I'd love nothing more than to do that, Arya, but you know why I cannot," he whispered.  "I'm the duly anointed King of Westeros.  I have obligations to all the people of Westeros, not just the North."

"Then, I am staying right here in King's Landing with you," his sister replied insistently.  "I won't leave you to face the viper's nest of the Court alone."

"Thank you, my dear sister," the King whispered.  He grabbed Arya tightly in his arms.

The two siblings hugged each other silently for a long time.  There were countless problems that they had to face - the Council and the Court and the Iron Bank and the Tarlys and Lord Petyr Baelish.  However, the Starks would face them together as a pack like they always did.  Arya Stark and Jon Snow had each other and that was what really mattered.


	18. Daenerys II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys takes her babies to see her dragons.

Daenerys looked out from the windows of her solar over the gardens below and frowned.  Jon's outburst during the Council session had led to another round of gossip in the Court.   _They are all whispering about how the bumpkin Northern king threw a fit during the Council session_ , Dany fretted to herself.

Normally, the Queen would not concern herself with the opinions of the fickle lords and ladies.  However, the threats posed by Petyr Baelish and Aegon Targaryen had her on edge.   _It is important now more than ever for the Royal Family to be popular with the Court_ , she thought.   _The approval of Westeros, both the nobles and the commoners, may be the only thing that preserves our crowns.  Jon_ _will just need to stop sulking about Arya._

There was only one thing that could put her at ease after such a trying day - her dragons.  Dany had been neglecting her children as of late because of her royal duties.   _They deserve a visit_ , she said with a smile.  She turned away from the windows and toward the two ladies-in-waiting who were quietly standing beside the doorway.  "Agnes and Talla, I wish to visit the Dragonpit.  Please inform my guards and have a carriage prepared," she ordered calmly.

"Your Majesty," the women replied docilely as they curtsied.

She nodded regally to her ladies.  "And my children will be coming with me.  Inform their nursemaids of that," she ordered.

"My Queen, is taking Their Highnesses to see the dragons a wise idea?" Agnes asked meekly.  "The dragons are dangerous creatures.  They could harm the Prince and Princess."  The lady-in-waiting shivered as she mentioned of the dragons' power.

Dany pursed her lips and looked at the scared woman.  Most of the Court seemed terrified by the dragons, something which mystified the Queen.   _They are perfectly tender creatures,_ she thought as she looked at the cowering lady-in-waiting.   _They only burn those who I tell them to._

"Their Highnesses are the blood of dragons," Talla chimed in before the Queen could rebuke Agnes.  "Her Majesty's children will not harm them."

Dany smiled at the Tarly girl.  Talla seemed more astute than she let on.  "Indeed, they won't," the Queen commented approvingly.  "Now please hurry along and inform the guards and nursemaids."  Dany stared at Talla Tarly as she left the room.  "Oh and Talla, you will come with us to the Dragonpit as my personal attendant."

Talla curtsied again.  "You honor me, Your Grace," she replied sweetly and left the room to do the Queen's bidding.

Dany sighed once more, looked out the window, and walked out of her solar tailed by her personal guard.  When she got to the entrance of the Red Keep, she found her carriage already prepared for her.  The Queen nodded slightly and prepared to enter and wait for her children.

"Mama," a cherub voice cried out to her, causing the Queen to turn her head before entering the carriage.

Dany smiled as she saw Ned running toward her, his face and ornate tunic smeared with dirt and his dark brown hair unkempt.  The Queen scooped him up into her arms.  "I see you are quite messy, my sweet boy," she observed mischievously.  "What headaches have you given Cecily today?"

Ned giggled.  "I wanna see the dragons, Mama!  Cecily said I could see the dragons!"

Dany kissed her son on his unruly mop of hair.  "Yes, we are going to see the dragons, Ned."  As she cuddled her son, she spied the Head Royal Nursemaid running toward her, carrying Rhae in her arms, and followed by Talla Tarly.

Cecily gave a quick, harried curtsy to Daenerys.  She frowned at Ned's unkempt appearance.  "I am sorry for the Crown Prince's appearance, Your Grace," she apologized.  "His Royal Highness has been a handful today."

"That is quite alright," the Queen laughed as she placed her son on the ground and gave him a final kiss on his head.  "Jon always says that children ought to be dirty."

Cecily pursed her lips as if she disagreed with the King and Queen on their childrearing philosophy but did not want to contradict her sworn sovereigns.

Dany frowned slightly at the nursemaid's silent disapproval.  She disliked it that her servants were afraid to express their opinions to her.  However, it was what it was.  Dany nodded and grabbed her son's hand.  "Come then," she ordered and the small entourage followed her into the carriage.

The ride to the Dragonpit was uneventful.  The streets of the upper city were lined with curious onlookers tentatively watching their queen as always happened when she rode out into the city with her entourage.  Dany waved to her people through the windows of her covered carriage as she bounced Rhae on her knee.  She enjoyed being accessible to her subjects even though she knew that the commoners regarded her warily, while they adored Jon.   _The man who hates being their king is beloved to the commoners of King's Landing_ , she grumbled to herself as she caressed her little girl.  The fact that they loved Jon and regarded her fearfully upset the Queen even though the logical part of her did recognize the value of ruling with a bit of ruthlessness.  Her ancestors maintained their control of Westeros with fire and blood.  A monarch should be feared more than he or she was loved or that monarch would soon be interred in a tomb.   _I should not be angry to be regarded in the same matter as Aegon the Conqueror was_ , she reminded herself silently.  But a nagging part of her remained jealous of Jon and his popular touch.

 _No matter_ , she reassured herself as she continued to cuddle Rhae.   _I ha_ _ve my family and my crown.  As lon_ _g as I can keep both, it does not matter that my husband is more beloved than I am._ She continued to comfort herself with thoughts of both as her entourage traveled to the Dragonpit.

"My Queen," one of the guards called out as the Royal Carriage lurched to a stop, "we are at the Dragonpit."

Daenerys smiled, her mood brightening considerably at the prospect of seeing her children.  She handed Rhae to Cecily and exited the carriage.

Ned excitedly jumped out of the carriage after her, nearly falling to the ground to the dismay of Cecily and the horror of the Royal Bodyguard.  "Where are the dragons!" the Crown Prince asked happily as he got up and brushed himself off.

Dany laughed.  "Soon, Ned," she counseled her son as she grabbed the toddler's chubby hand.  "You only need to wait a few more minutes."  The Queen smiled as her son pouted.  "Remember that Papa told you that you must be patient and not demand things," she scolded her son gently.  "You need to walk into the Dragonpit with Mama rather than running in on your own and startling the guards and dragons."

Ned nodded silently, but the Queen knew that her son was annoyed by being told no.   _Jon is right about finding Ned playmates who won't cater to his every whim or treat him as the Crown Prince_ , she thought as she guided her fussy son to the Dragonpit.  However, Daenerys was unsure who in the Court wouldn't remain circumspect around their future king. The nobles and servants and guards catered to his every whim.  Even Cecily appeared afraid to punish Ned for his mischief.

"My Queen," one of the soldiers standing guard at the door bowed as Daenerys and her children entered the Dragonpit.

"How are my children?" the Queen inquired.

The soldier shivered when Dany mentioned the dragons he was guarding.  "They are fine, Your Grace," he whispered fearfully at the dragons' power.

The Queen looked stoically at the guard, trying not to be bothered by the man's fear of her dragons.  As she entered the Dragonpit, Drogon swooped down to her followed by Rhaegal and Viserion.  Drogon nustled against her and then nosed Ned curiously.

Ned screamed happily and kissed Drogon's nose.  He was then surrounded by all three dragons nudging him gently.  "I love the dragons, Mama," her son exclaimed happily as he caressed Rhaegal and kissed Drogon's nose again.

Dany laughed at her son's happiness.  "This is your birthright, Ned," she whispered gently as she urged him to continue interacting with the dragons.  "The dragons secure Mama and Papa's rule and they will secure your rule as well when you are much older and are crowned king."

The Queen then looked back at Cecily and Rhae.  The nursemaid stood at the edge of the Dragonpit pale with terror as she held Rhae tightly.  The baby wriggled against her nursemaid's tightening grip and sobbed about not being able to play with her brother and the dragons.  Cecily tried to quiet the little princess.  "No, no, Your Royal Highness," she hushed as she tried to keep Rhae from wriggling out of her hands and crawling toward the dragons.

"Cecily," Talla stated docilely to the nursemaid as stood near the nursemaid and princess, "perhaps it will be advisable for you to allow Her Highness to join the Queen and the Crown Prince with the dragons.  The Princess is the blood of dragons; they will not hurt her."

Cecily nodded and gently placed Rhae on the ground.  The baby began crawling toward Dany and Ned, giggling happily.  Cecily fainted after looking at the dragons once more as the baby continued to crawl toward them.

Dany laughed at Rhae.  She ran toward her little girl and picked her up gently guiding her toward the dragons.  "Yes, you are a Dragon, My Sweet Princess," she said as she caressed her baby.  "Let's go see the dragons."

Rhae clapped and gurgled as Dany carried her daughter to the dragons.  "Dra, Dra," the baby said happily as Dany lifted her up and allowed her little girl to give Drogon a kiss.

"Yes, this is Drogon, Rhae," she smiled as she continued cuddling her little girl.

"Dra, Dra," Rhae repeated happily as she patted Drogon's nose.

As Dany continued to happily play with her children and dragons, a harried page entered the Dragonpit.  He knelt low in the presence of the Queen.

Dany walked toward the page carrying Rhae on her left hip and guiding Ned with her right hand.  "What is wrong?" she asked the man stoically.

"I am sorry to bother you, My Queen," the page replied meekly.  "However, the King insisted I find you.  Some complications have arisen.  Lady Ellaria is requesting an audience with the entire Court."

"What?" Dany asked confusedly as she rocked Rhae in her arms.

"Lord Varys suspects something to do with Petyr Baelish," the servant stated plainly.

Dany's eyes narrowed into dark purple slits as her dragons, sensing their mother's anger, yelled and snorted fire.  "We return to the Red Keep at once," she ordered sharply.  The Queen left the Dragonpit hurriedly guiding her children and followed by her guards and retainers.  Lord Petyr Baelish would not harm her family or threaten her crown.  Daenerys Targaryen was a Dragon and she would destroy this threat as her family had destroyed threats for centuries - with fire and blood.


	19. Tyrion III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellaria Sand declares Aegon to be Rhaegar's son and the true heir to the Iron Throne.

Tyrion looked on as Jon shifted on his wooden throne in the Great Hall.  Daenerys glared at her husband with a steely anger in her purple eyes.  Their Hand fretted about both from his seat behind the dual thrones.  Jon's angst and hesitation and Daenerys' blind anger would lead the realm into trouble, especially now that Petyr Baelish posed such a threat.  Despite the King and Queen's constant annoyance with him and his admittedly selfish attempts at self-aggrandizement, Tyrion hoped that he remained a steadying influence on the Crown - appealing to Daenerys better angels and insisting that Jon balance his honor and emotions with the politics and pragmatism.   _That is the only way we may survive this_ _crisis_ , Tyrion thought worriedly.

Lady Ellaria Sand and her eldest daughters, Nymeria, Obara, and Tyene, walked into the Great Hall and down the center aisle.  They curtsied slightly as they approached the thrones.  Tyrion frowned deeply as he watched their actions.   _Varys is right about their ill intentions_ , Tyrion thought as he observed the women's actions.   _The Sand Snakes are troublesome vassals, but Lady Ellaria has always acted appropriately when requesting an audience with the Crown - kneeling in respect to her sworn sovereigns rather than curtsying so casually.  They must have made some sort of alliance with Petyr Baelish._   Tyrion glanced back at his sovereigns.  Based on the pair's dark and angry faces, it appeared that both agreed with his assessment of the situation.

"Rise," Jon stated stoically as he continued to eye Lady Ellaria and her daughters warily.  "What brings our loyal vassal before the Crown?" he asked sternly.  There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice as if the King was annoyed by having to recite an obvious falsehood in front of the Court.

"Your Graces, it has come to my attention that a man claiming to be Aegon Targaryen is currently in King's Landing," Ellaria replied slowly in her usual arrogant voice.

"Perhaps My Lady, you need better attendants to keep you updated on the latest news from the Court," Daenerys observed coolly, her angry purple eyes staring intently at Ellaria.  "The Crown is already aware of the man purporting to be Aegon Targaryen."

"The One True King!" a minor Riverlands lord shouted from back of the Great Hall to the amusement of the Court.

Lady Ellaria and her daughters turned their heads back to the crowd and glared at the lords and ladies heartily laughing at Aegon's pretensions.

"Silence!" Jon snapped, his booming voice ringing out throughout the Hall.  "Subjects have a right to petition the Crown.  The Court will hear what Lady Ellaria has to say without comment."  The King rubbed his forehead and readjusted his crown.

Ellaria turned back to the thrones while her daughters continued glaring at the lords and ladies of the Court ominously.  "As I was saying before I was interrupted," the Lady Paramount of Dorne observed testily, "I am aware a man claiming to be Aegon Targaryen is in King's Landing.  Furthermore, my daughter, Nymeria, and I have met this man and believe he is who he claims to be."  Loud murmurs rang through the Great Hall as Ellaria finished her declaration.  Ellaria Sand continued staring at the King and Queen, a smug smile creeping onto her face.  "That means, **My King** ," the lady continued emphasizing the title she clearly didn't believe to be valid, "your claim to the Throne is not valid.  Your brother, Aegon Targaryen, has blood rights to the Crown of Westeros."

Jon and Daenerys both continued to stare at the Sand Snakes silently as angry shouts rang out throughout the crowd.  "Treason!" Lord Rosby shouted out.  "What Lady Ellaria is suggesting is treason against the Crown.  My King and Queen, she and her daughters should be executed for speaking such seditious thoughts."

"What is treason is not allowing the true King of Westeros to claim his birthright," Obara Sand snapped as she continued staring at the Court.

With that utterance, more shouts rang through the Great Hall and the demands for the Sand Snakes' execution grew even louder.  "Silence!" Tyrion stated as he rose from his chair behind the Throne and stared out over the restless crowd.  "As the King mentioned, subjects have a right to petition the Court without any fear of punishment."

"But they are speaking of treason against the Crown," Arya pointed out angrily from her perch at the foot of the dais.  "They should be executed for their crimes."  Arya's hand slipped discreetly underneath her grey and white tunic, presumably ready to pull out a hidden dagger and take care of the problem if her brother refused the Court's demands.

The crowd roared with approval at Arya's words.  More shouts of treasons rang out throughout the Great Hall as the lords and ladies rushed into the center aisle of the Great Hall and began jostling Ellaria and her daughters.

"Silence!" Jon's strong, regal voice rang out causing the mob to cease its assault on the Sand Snakes.  The King rose from his throne followed by his wife.  "There will be silence and order in the Hall!" he ordered sharply.  "As the Hand made clear, subjects have the right to petition the Crown without fear of violence or retaliation."

"But what Lady Ellaria is proposing is treason, Jon!" Arya repeated angrily, her hand gripping the hidden dagger under her tunic.  "Why would you allow someone who is plotting treason against you to leave the Great Hall unharmed?"

"Words are not treason, Lady Arya," Jon replied stoically.  He stared at Ellaria and her daughters, his lips pursed in their usual frown.  "I don't care if the Lady Paramount of Dorne believes that a pink baboon owned by traveling minstrels from Braavos is Aegon the Conqueror reborn as long as those words don't become actions and the Lady pays her taxes and fulfills her other obligations to the Crown," the King observed drolly to the laughter of the Court.

Ellaria glared at the King.  "So His Majesty is now making a habit of mocking those who seek the Crown's redress," she snapped.

"Just a bit of levity to lighten the tense atmosphere, My Lady," Jon replied coolly as he offered Daenerys his right arm and began walking down the steps of dais tailed by his bodyguards.  "The Queen and I have no intention of ceding the Throne to the pawn of Lord Petyr Baelish," he added offhandedly as he and his wife continued walking from the Great Hall.

The entire Court, except the Sand Snakes, knelt in homage as the King and Queen exited the Great Hall.  Tyrion eyed Lady Ellaria and her daughters warily before he followed his monarchs from the Great Hall.  "Have some guards escort Lady Ellaria and her daughters back to their quarters.  It wouldn't do for sworn vassals of the Crown to be harmed in the Red Keep," Tyrion ordered a guard posted at the south doors of the Great Hall.  The Hand looked back at the Sand Snakes who considered to stare at the crowd contemptuously.  "And have a squadron of guards remain with them at all time," he added calmly.  He continued to contemplate the shift players and pawns and plots in front of him.  A dangerous game was unfolding right before his eyes and that game crept even closer and closer to Their Majesties.


	20. Sansa II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa tries to reason with her family about political realities they face and to negotiate with Randyll Tarly.

Her brother paced back and forth across the room as was his habit when he was angry or concerned about something.  He eyed his hated crown in the center of the desk in his private study, which soured his mood even further.

Sansa smiled at Jon, trying to wordlessly reassure him even as her own doubts grew.  "We still have the North, Jon.  We will always have the North," she whispered as she observed her brother's angst.  Sansa was unsure whether this was true, but she lied to comfort Jon anyway.

"You don't know that," Jon replied dejectedly.  "You warned me about issues in the North, Sansa."  The King sank down into his chair with his head in his hands.

Sansa frowned at Jon.  "You have been through worse, Jon," she reminded her brother.  "You stopped the apocalypse."

Jon sighed and continued to stare at his crown grumpily.  "You have always warned me that humans are the biggest monsters, Sansa," he reminded her darkly.

The Princess Regent smiled sadly at her brother.  "Indeed, they are, Jon.  We, Starks, understand that more than most," she observed solemnly.  She glanced at Bran and Arya who were quietly sitting near the study's windows.  Sansa thought about the hardships they all had faced and the scars they all bore.  As she looked at her siblings, she wished that the gods would erase all that had happened to them.  She wished to return to their happy childhood in Winterfell where lemon cakes and snowball fights and Old Nan's stories and Maester Luwin's lessons were all that mattered, where there were no crowns or banks or political games or marriage contracts.  However, Sansa knew that her wish could never be.  The Starks' scars, both visible and invisible, would never truly go away.

Jon nodded in agreement and discreetly clasped the left side of his chest.  Those scars, the scars the Starks never discussed, appeared to be bothering the King.  "How am I to protect my family from these newest monsters?" he wondered out loud.

Arya looked at Jon sympathetically.  "Dorne has always been troublesome vassals, Jon.  Lady Ellaria refused to aid Oldtown during the war and she has always been quite sullen about her pledge of fealty to the Crown, especially when she found out that you were Lyanna's son.  She spends most her time complaining about how Dorne is disrespected.  As Sansa said, you still have the North.  That along with the Crown troops should be enough to fend off any threats."

"And the Reach remains strong vassals to the Crown as well," Sansa added.  "Those bonds should strengthen with Arya's marriage to Dickon Tarly."

Jon and Arya glanced at each other guiltily as Sansa discussed the Tarly marriage contract.  "About that," Jon began.

Sansa frowned.  She glared at her sister.  "One simple thing was asked of you and you refused, Arya," she snarled.  "You are a grown woman, but you act like a spoiled child."  She then glared at the King.  "And you indulge her whims," she growled at her brother. 

"Arya was upset about the potential arrangement, Sansa," Jon explained sheepishly.  "I couldn't force her to do it."  He rubbed his head.  "I just couldn't."

"We all have to make sacrifices for the good of our family.  You did.  I did.  I am sure that Bran would as well," Sansa stated sharply.  She glanced icily over at her sister.  "Why is only Arya exempt from such sacrifices."

Arya's eyes narrowed into grey daggers as she stared at Sansa.  "Because Jon is king and he says I don't have to marry Dickon Tarly," she snapped.

"Silence, both of you," Jon snapped.  "You are both acting like children."  He looked at Sansa.  "I am not going to make Arya marry for political reasons.  That is final."  He rubbed his head again.  "We shall give Randyll Tarly something else to appease him - a seat on the Small Council perhaps."

"Fine, Jon," Sansa growled.  "Then be prepared to lose the Tarlys and the Reach and with it, the Crown.  Perhaps you can just place your head on the executioners' block now and save Aegon and Littlefinger the trouble of having to scheme to gain the Throne."

"I know it is a risk, Sansa.  I should agree to the marriage contract.  It is the easiest way to secure the Reach," the King replied.  "However, I will not use any of you as pawns.  What good is a crown if that crown destroys my family's happiness."

"You didn't seem too concerned about my happiness when I agreed to marry Ser Wilhelm," Sansa observed.

"No one forced you to agree to that match.  You agreed to that marriage of your own free will, Sansa," Jon pointed out, "just like I agreed to marry Dany of my own free will.  However, Arya doesn't wish to marry and I will not force her into a political marriage that will make her unhappy."

"Arya should be willing to sacrifice for the good of her family," Sansa observed as she glared at her sister angrily.  "She should sacrifice to ensure the security of the brother she purports to love."

"I won't become the broodmare of some lord," Arya snapped.  "I can protect Jon in other ways."  She pulled out a dagger from beneath her tunic and began twirling it on the table to make her point.

"Perhaps, it is best for Jon to give his crown to Aegon Targaryen and return to the North with his family," Bran suggested solemnly, interjecting his thoughts into the heated discussion.  The youngest Stark had been quietly observing the row between Arya, Jon, and Sansa from his perch near the window.  "Starks are not meant to rule in the South.  We will all be happier together at Winterfell rather than trying to keep this Southern Throne."

Sansa frowned at her brother.  He lived in another world entirely, one that she did not understand, and he was generally naive in political affairs despite his eerie prescient knowledge.  "That is inadvisable, Bran," Sansa insisted strongly.  "Littlefinger will not leave the North alone.  He wants all of Westeros to kneel in submission to him."  She paused as she remembered what else Baelish wanted.  "And he wants me as well," she whispered softly.

Bran wheeled his chair next to her.  "The North is independent and difficult to invade, Sansa," he reminded her gently.  "You will be safe in Winterfell."  He gave her left shoulder a gentle pat.  "Littlefinger won't be able to get you."

"There is untapped wealth and resources in the North, Bran.  The North spans half of Westeros.  Why would Littlefinger give up that easily?" the Princess Regent pointed out.   _Why would he give up me that easily?_ she added silently.

"I agree with Sansa," Jon said.  The King rose from his chair and began pacing the length of his study again.  "It is unwise to assume that Littlefinger would leave the North alone."  He paused by the east windows overlooking the gardens and leaned against the glass panes.  He sighed wearily; his body hunched over from the invisible weight of his burdens and worries.  "Nor can I abandon my people to the whims of a man as evil as Littlefinger."  

Sansa walked over to her brother and gave him a reassuring hug.  "I know that you wish more than anything to be a merciful and just ruler, to follow the Great Charter," she replied gently.  She tentatively looked the King in the eyes.  "However, you also know that you must be politically astute."  Sansa paused and turned toward Arya.  "And making tough decisions regarding alliances."

Jon's weary face reddened with anger at Sansa's words.  "I said that I won't order Arya to marry Dickon Tarly and I mean it," the King growled.  "I won't sell my sister like she is a pawn.  I won't destroy my enemies with fire and blood.  I won't play political games and engage in devious plots."  Jon paused for a moment to calm himself down.  "If I am to rule, it will be on my terms," he whispered as he went back to looking out the windows at the lush and colorful gardens bathed in afternoon sun.  "I want to build a new world, a better world.  I cannot rule by the same old lies and threats and plots that past kings of Westeros have used if I wish to build that new world."

Sansa frowned slightly at her brother's pronouncement.  She loved and admired Jon for the compassionate and just man he was, but she was surprised how naive he remained despite being king for over three years.   _Perhaps it is not a bad thing that Jon had been able to keep a bit of his moral core and idealism in this cynical world_ , the Princess-Regent reasoned to herself.  She gave her brother's left arm a reassuring squeeze.  "Perhaps I was too harsh, Jon," she apologized as she looked into his sad black eyes.  "My prior time as a hostage in King's Landing has made me cynical," she admitted softly.  "Let me see if I can shore up the Reach for you."

"Thank you, Sansa," Jon whispered.  His face lightened as he walked from the study windows and toward his desk.  The King grimaced slightly as he picked up his ornate golden circlet and placed it on his head.  "Now I must return to the Great Hall for Council business," he sighed apologetically to his siblings as he turned and exited the room.

Sansa sighed as she watched Jon return to his royal duties.  She looked back at her brother and sister and smiled weakly.  Then the Princess Regent of the North sat down silently in front of the garden windows and began plotting how to keep her family safe.

* * *

She was able to speak with Lord Tarly later that evening.  Randyll Tarly and his wife, Melessa, stood near the back of the torchlight Great Hall as minstrels sang of the Targaryens' exploits.  The Lord of Hornhill stared at the performers sourly.  It appeared that he disapproved of such frivolity as much as Jon did.  Of course, Randyll Tarly always looked sour, so one never knew exactly what was angering him.

Sansa approached the Tarlys with a courteous smile on her face.  "Pleasant evening, Lord and Lady Tarly," she stated politely as she dipped slightly into a courtly curtsy.

"It is, Your Highness," Melessa Tarly replied and reciprocated with her own curtsy.  "It is nice that such merriment can help us momentarily forget about the recent unpleasantness in the Court."

Lord Tarly grunted in disagreement with his wife's words.  "There is quite a bit of unpleasantness afoot.  The Court should not be engaging in such frivolity when there are powerful enemies plotting against our dear monarchs."

Sansa narrowed her lips into a small diplomatic smile.  "But isn't it necessary sometimes to show such powerful enemies that we aren't cowed by their threats," she asked politely.

"The Lady Paramount of Dorne spoke treasonous words in this very Hall this very afternoon," Lord Tarly snapped.  "We may be at war with Dorne and the Iron Bank of Braavos soon."  He gestured disapprovingly toward the high dais where Jon and Dany sat stoically on their thrones.  "And yet Their Majesties are here listening to minstrel acts rather than preparing for war."

"You are, after all, the military mastermind and I am but a woman who knows little about war," Sansa stated diplomatically.  "But perhaps if Westeros remains a united front, we can deter Petyr Baelish from causing any us any harm."  She stared intently at Lord and Lady Tarly.  "My brother and good sister can count on the support of their loyal subjects from the Reach, especially the Lord of Hornhill, can they not?"

"I have been steadfast in my support of Their Majesties even when I privately disagree with their decisions," Randyll Tarly replied evenly.  His eyes returned to the dais at the front of the Great Hall.  "However, I expect a reward for my unwavering loyalty."

Sansa nodded demurely.  "His Majesty has carefully examined your proposal and while he wishes to strengthen the ties between the Crown and his loyal vassals in the Reach, he cannot agree to a marriage between Her Highness, Arya Stark, and Ser Dickon Tarly at this time," she stated carefully.  "As a gesture of his goodwill to the Reach, he instead offers you a place on the Small Council as Master of Coin."

"Master of Coin?" Lord Tarly snapped.  "That is the counteroffer His Majesty proposes."

"Why are you scoffing at privileged access to the King?" Sansa asked angrily.

"Members of the Small Council are regularly replaced, Your Highness," Lord Tarly replied sharply.  "I have always found marriage ties more enduring."

 _I doubt that family ties are that enduring, Lord Tarly_ , Sansa thought drolly.  She eyed Lord Tarly sharply.  "That is His Grace's offer, My Lord."

"And the marriage alliance remains my final offer, Your Highness," Lord Tarly stated with a slight bow.  He eyed the King once more.  "And tell His Majesty that if he wants to talk about such matters, he can come to me himself rather than hiding behind the skirts of his sister."  He turned to leave followed by his wife.  Melessa looked at Sansa sympathetically as she left.

Sansa sighed as she watched the Tarlys leave.  As much as Jon wished to create a new world where such politics and games and pettiness did not exist, human nature dictated it was not to be.  Crowns and banks and marriage alliances and political games persisted and her brother remained in peril because of them.


	21. Daenerys III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys confronts Jon about the situation with the Tarlys. Arya proposes a compromise.

Daenerys watched concerned as her husband sat across the dining room table from her brooding.  For the first time since the opening of the Council, the couple had been able to dine alone.  Jon generally loved such times together alone, times when he could set the burdens of ruling aside.  However, the recent backbiting and tensions of the Court seemed to have polluted even their inner sanctum.  She smiled slightly at her morose husband.  "It is quite lovely out today," Dany stated engaging in small talk to lighten Jon's tense mood.  "The breeze off of Blackwater Bay made the gardens quite comfortable this afternoon."

"Aye," Jon grumbled distractedly as he picked at his food.

Dany sighed.  "You have always enjoyed our dinners alone, Jon," she observed quietly. "What is wrong tonight?"

"Everything is wrong!" Her husband snapped.  "Everything has gone wrong since the Crown Council started!  I am tired of it all! Littlefinger! The Tarlys! The North! Dorne!"

"No one ever said that ruling was easy," the Queen reminded her husband sympathetically.

"Aye," the King replied quietly.  "But why do I feel more threatened now than I have since the Great War?"  He took a sip of wine and placed his glass down on the table with a thud.  "I just want to protect you and Ned and Rhae and my siblings, but I do not know how to do so!"

"More wine, Your Grace," Talla Tarly chirped in the background.

"Who are you?" Jon snapped angrily and grabbed his empty wine glass before Talla could refill it.

"Talla Tarly, My King," she stated.  "I am Lord Randyll Tarly's daughter."

Jon glared at her.  "Another Tarly!" he observed sarcastically.  "I am up to my eyeballs in Tarlys!"

Talla Tarly retreated to the side table with the carafe of wine she had been holding.  "I am sorry, My King," she said submissively, "but I cannot control who my father is."

Dany frowned.  "Jon, don't take your anger out on my ladies," she snapped.  "Talla has become my trusted confidant."

"I am sure that she is a trusted confidant, one who reports everything she hears in your presence to her father," the King observed angrily as he glared at Talla.  "Leave us, My Lady."  Jon looked at all the servants.  "In fact, leave this room, all of you.  I am tired of servants sulking around every corner of this damn palace.  I just want to be alone with my wife!"

Dany gave a silent nod for the servants and ladies to leave them alone.  "That was uncalled for, Jon," she replied curtly after their attendants had left.

The King looked at her guiltily and went back to picking at his dinner.  "I shouldn't have been so harsh toward our servants, but I am tired of all intrigue and politics in this city," he whispered softly.

Dany eyed Jon suspiciously.  "You've dealt with intrigue and politics of the Court for the last three years.  Why is it suddenly upsetting you?"

Jon frowned.  "Lord Tarly refused my counteroffer according to Sansa," he stated as he looked down at his plate.  "He is insisting on a marriage contract between Dickon and Arya as the price of his loyalty."

The Queen nodded slightly.  It didn't surprise her that Lord Tarly would accept nothing less than a royal marriage in return for his continued fealty.  The man was arrogant and greedy enough to covet such an honor and smart enough to know that he currently had immense leverage over the Crown.   _If I had my way, I would drag Randyll Tarly before the Throne and execute him for treason_ , she thought.  However, Daenerys knew that such a move would be both unwise and unjust.   _Lord Tarly is a cruel man but he has always been a loyal vassal._ _And we need his armies._   She looked at her husband sympathetically.  "You may need to give him what he wants, Jon," she stated gently as she reached across the table to grab the King's hand.

"I promised Arya," the King stated angrily, his brow creasing into a deep frown.

"And sometimes promises must be broken.  It is the price of ruling," Daenerys observed forcefully.  "We need the Reach's army."

"Aye, promises must sometimes be broken," her husband agreed, "but not this promise.  Please don't insist that I sell my own sister like this.  You of all people should be angered by the practice of selling women in marriage as if they were chattel."

Dany placed her wine glass down on the table.  "Aye, I am angry about women being traded in such a manner.  But I am also realistic about the world we inhabit and what is necessary to protect our children," she replied plainly.  "And you and Arya must be realistic about it as well."

Jon sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I know that I should just sign the marriage contract, Dany, but I cannot lose Arya again," he insisted sadly.

The Queen gave her husband a kiss on the cheek.  "Let me speak to her about the situation," she replied gently.  "Perhaps a talk woman-to-woman about such matters would help your sister understand the importance of sacrifice."

The King looked at her skeptically.  "Arya dislikes you, Dany," he pointed out.  "She wouldn't listen to Sansa or even me, what makes you think that you will have more success?"

The Queen smiled sympathetically at her husband.  "Perhaps allow me to try rather than prejudging the matter and declaring that all is lost?" she replied

"Fine, Dany," Jon relented.  "Talk to Arya about the marriage contract.  However, if she still refuses, I won't make her."

Dany nodded silently and gave her husband's hand a reassuring squeeze.

* * *

Daenerys found Arya early the next morning in her usual place in the practice yards.  Her good sister had a sword in her hand and was attacking a dummy with gusto.  Dany smiled slightly as she walked toward Arya.  "It is quite early to be in the practice yards, Lady Arya," she observed calmly.

Arya dropped her practice sword and bowed her head slightly to acknowledge the Queen's presence.  "I didn't return to the Red Keep until near dawn, so I figured that I would just go to the practice yards instead of my apartments, Your Grace," the young woman replied as she wiped sweat from her brow.

Dany pursed her lips slightly.  "I know, Arya," she stated.  "The guards mentioned as much."

The young woman rolled her eyes and muttered curses under her breathe.  "And you are here to lecture me about my excursions outside the Red Keep, aren't you?" Arya observed peevishly.  She picked up her sword and began walking back toward the edge of the practice yard.  "If that is why you are here, Your Majesty, don't waste your breath.  I've heard that lecture many times already from Tyrion."

"You are just like your brother," Dany commented wryly.  "He tends to ignore Tyrion's lectures as well."

Arya turned back to Daenerys and rolled her eyes again.  "You have said your piece and have heard my answer," she replied curtly.  "Now if you don't mind, Your Grace, I wish to continue practicing alone."  Arya picked up a dulled battle ax and went back to the practice ring.

The Queen frowned at Arya's abrupt remarks as she watched her good sister practice from afar.  Dany had been married to Jon for four years now and his family and his people still regarded her hesitantly.  She remained a foreigner, an outsider, just another Targaryen tyrant, rather than their beloved queen or dear sister.   _I doubt that I ever will be fully accepted, especially not by Arya_ ,  she thought sadly.   _Perhaps Jon is right that this was a fool's errand._ However, for the sake of her family and her kingdom, she had to try.  The Queen pulled her skirts above her ankles and walked back into the practice ring.  "I thought we talk perhaps, just as sisters," she stated quietly.

Arya dropped the battle ax she had been using for practice.  "Could you please leave, Your Grace?" she replied exasperatedly.

"You are ordering your queen to leave?" Daenerys asked calmly.

"So stay then, Your Majesty," Arya snapped.  "I cannot order you to leave."  She grabbed her weapon again and went back to hitting the practice dummy.

"Why do you dislike me so much, Arya?" Daenerys whispered.

"Where did you get the idea that I dislike you?" Arya stated as she whacked the practice dummy.

"Perhaps the fact that we have been sisters for four years and you still address me formally as Your Grace rather than Daenerys," Dany pointed out.  "Or the fact that you refer to me as that high strung Targaryen in private."

Arya paused.  "I don't hate you," she stated forcefully.  "I hate that, because of you, my brother is stuck down here in a place that makes him miserable rather than being in the North with his family!"

"And you hate that you are stuck here as well?" Dany observed knowingly.

"Perhaps, I do, Your.. Daenerys," Arya spit out angrily as she went back to work on the practice dummy.

"Then, leave, Arya," the Queen stated coolly.  "Jon would not be upset if you remained at Winterfell after our visit to the North or even if you returned to Braavos."

Arya smiled bitterly.  "I won't leave without Jon," she whispered.  "I won't leave him in this cesspool alone."

Daenerys reached out toward Arya and smiled.  "You are devoted to your brother, Arya," she replied approvingly.  "I admire you for that."  She paused slightly.  "There is one particular thing you can do to support Jon."

Arya groaned.  "So this is what your visit is about!" she snapped.  "No, I won't marry Dickon Tarly.  Jon agrees with me about that.  He apologized for ordering me to do so."

"I won't order you to marry Dickon Tarly, Arya," Dany stated calmly.  "I know quite a bit about being sold like chattel.  However, I appeal to your desire to help your brother.  This marriage may be necessary to secure the loyalty of the Reach."

"You still mean to trade me as chattel is necessary to secure your Throne, Your Grace," Arya pointed out testily.  "You just want my assent before you do so because it will ease your conscience."

"It is not just my Throne that I am seeking to secure.  It's your brother's Throne as well," the Queen pointed out evenly.

"He hates being king," Arya replied plainly.  "It's mainly your Throne, Daenerys.  He only puts up with all this because he loves you."  Arya walked toward the edge of practice ring and placed the battle ax that she had been using near a wall.

Daenerys followed her good sister.  "Yes," she admitted.  "Jon hates ruling.  He hates it but he is willing to sacrifice not just for my sake, but also for the sake of his family and his people."  She looked intently at Arya.  "It would be nice if his family, his entire family, supported him."

Arya glared.  "You are going to continue nagging me about this damn marriage contract until I agree to it, aren't you?" she stated wearily as she exited the practice rings.

"Perhaps," the Queen replied knowingly.

"Fine then," Arya groaned.  "I will pretend to court Dickon until you find a solution to the situation with Littlefinger.  But don't expect me to actually marry him."  The young woman paused and smirked slightly.  "And I want something in return for my sacrifice.  I am tired of dealing with shipbuilding.  I want to be appointed Hand of the Crown after this unpleasantness with Littlefinger and his Targaryen puppet is cleared up."

Daenerys frowned as she looked at her good sister.  "But that is Tyrion's brief?" she replied confusedly.

"Right now," Arya pointed out, a smug smile firmly planted on her face.  "Perhaps, new blood is needed.  Lord Tyrion has not served the Crown well as of late.  His ill advice has partially led to the current crisis you are facing.  Plus, he is an annoying busybody toward me."

"Tyrion has always been one of our most loyal supporters," the Queen snapped.  "I cannot just set him aside like that."

"You need me, not him," Arya observed calmly, "and those are my terms, Daenerys."

Dany stared at the Arya.  She needed the young woman's acquiescence and this appeared to be the only way to get it.  "I will request that Lord Tyrion return to Casterly Rock after the Crown Council is finished to secure the Westerlands for the Crown," the Queen finally whispered.

Arya smiled triumphantly.  "I knew that we could come to an understanding, Your Majesty," her good sister replied.  "Now if you will excuse me I must prepare for the morning session of the Crown Council."  She began walking toward the Red Keep.

The Queen watched silently as Arya disappeared into the cavernous palace and contemplated the compromises that she had to make to keep her family safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this has been more controversial than I thought, perhaps I should explain some things about Arya in this story.
> 
> 1\. Arya is in a pretty bad place. She is scarred from the war and she is suffering from PTSD due to their experiences (as is Jon BTW). She is also really bored. She went from traveling the world to being a midlevel bureaucrat and sister to a king. She is stuck a stuffy Court with false friends, is judged by everyone, and is dealing with pretty minor tasks like inspecting ships.
> 
> 2\. Jon's indulgence of Arya is a two edge sword. Their devotion to each other is touching, but Jon tends to overlook his siblings' faults', especially Arya's, because he doesn't want to lose them again. Perhaps he shouldn't be so permissive toward her?
> 
> 3\. From Arya's standpoint, becoming Hand isn't a raw power grab. There really are two things going on. First, Arya knows that Tyrion is Dany's man, not necessarily Jon's. If you've read my previous story and even some of the previous chapters, you will know that Jon and Tyrion aren't always on the same page. Jon's consigliere (and adopted father figure) in the Wars Yet to Come was Davos. Tyrion and Jon have never had a warm relationship. So Arya sees this move partially as a way to advance her brother's interests. Second, it is just a way to get someone who is a rival to her and who she sees as a nagging hypocrite out of the way.


	22. Sam II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam arrives in King's Landing with his family.

They had been sailing for over a fortnight and the novelty of being aboard the boat had worn off for the children.  Jeyne had become irritable because of seasickness and Little Sam had been getting into more mischief than even he generally did due to boredom.  Between having to hear the crying of his two-year-old daughter and becoming victims of the antics of his five-year-old son, the crew and other passengers would be glad when the ship finally docked in King's Landing- Sam was sure of that.   _Perhaps it will be better when we finally arrive in the city_ , he told himself, but he was unconvinced by his own silent reassurances.  Arriving at King's Landing meant returning to a world that he had gladly left, the cesspool of the capital and the Court.  Sam shuddered to think about the drama and corruption of the place.   _But Jon must be warned that the Citadel is plotting against his reign_ , he reminded himself wearily.

"We will be docking shortly!" one of the sailors yelled out.  "Prepare yourself to disembark!"

Sam looked nervously out the small window of the lower deck and watched the familiar sights of Blackwater Bay appear on the horizon.  Little Sam walked toward his father and stood on his tiptoes peering out the window at the sights excitedly.  "What is that building on top of the hill, Papa?" he asked pointing to the Red Keep.  "The red one, up there?"

"The Red Keep," Sam explained plainly, "where the King and Queen live."

"And where we will be going!" his son observed happily.  "Mama says that you know the King, that you are old friends from before I was born even.  Mama said that is why the Queen asks her to make dresses for her," he chattered on as nearby passengers examined the little boy with renewed curiosity.

Sam turned slightly red at his son's loud and excited mention of his connection to the King.  "Hush Sam," he told his son gently.  "You are disturbing the other passengers."  He walked away from the window and beckoned for his son to follow.  "Come now.  Let's go find Mama and Jeyne."

"But Papa," Little Sam began to protest.

"The sooner that we find Mama and Jeyne, the sooner that we will be able to leave the boat and explore King's Landing," Sam promised the reluctant little boy.  He sighed slightly as he grabbed his son's hand and led him back toward their small cabin where Gilly was tending to Jeyne.  Sam was concerned about his son's sudden excitement about visiting the Red Keep and meeting the King.  _He will be confronted with realities that shatter his illusions soon enough_ , he thought as he studied the boy's happy face.

Sam found Gilly and Jeyne waiting for them in the corridor outside the family's small cabin.  Jeyne was sleeping soundly in her mother's arms.  "Mama," Sammy called out to her as he rushed toward Gilly.  "We must leave now so we can go to the Red Keep."

"Sammy, please keep your voice down," Gilly told the boy sternly.  "You will wake Jeyne!"

The five-year-old frowned at his mother's scolding.

Gilly's stern face softened as she looked at Little Sam.  "I know that you are excited, my dear boy," she told her son, "but you must wait patiently.  I promise you that things are even better when you wait for them."

"Aye, Mama," Little Sam replied.  "But can we please leave now!" he added excitedly

"Of course, Sammy," Gilly laughed at her son's excited insistence and let the lesson in patience she had been trying to give him slide.

Little Sam smiled at this and skipped ahead of his parents and sister as they walked up to the deck of the ship.

Sam frowned again as he watched his excited son scurry onto the boats upper deck and down the plank.  "He was chattering about the King and the Red Keep this morning," he told his wife as they followed their son off the boat.

"Aye," Gilly said as she shifted the sleeping Jeyne in her arms.  "He is a child excited about new experiences."

"Where did he hear such things about the King?" Sam asked his wife as they walked onto the docks.  "I rarely mention Jon or the War."

"I mentioned your friendship with Jon to Jeyne and Sam a few times," Gilly stated.  "And I am sure that he has heard stories about the King and Queen from street minstrels and his playmates."

"Fanciful tales of brave knights and fierce dragons and beautiful princesses, you mean," Sam replied disapprovingly.  "Sammy will be sorely disappointed when the realities of the Court fail to live up to his imagination."

"He is five years old, Sam," Gilly said as they began walking along the docks.  "I doubt he will comprehend such things, and even if he is disappointed, he will soon forget about it."

Sam pursed his lips.  "The prejudices that you experience daily in Oldtown will likely be even more intense in the Court," he reminded his wife quietly.  "The courtiers are likely to sneer at you and our children and my family will continue to shun us."  He sighed.  "Our son is old enough to understand these things.  He asked me why the ladies at the Guildhall called you a wildling just last month."

Gilly nodded.  "I understand, Sam, and we will discuss these things with Sammy if we experience such slights," she stated as she caressed Jeyne's head.  "But please don't allow your cynicism to sour your son's joy."

"Mama," Little Sam yelled out as he pointed to a group of men across the docks.  "Are those knights?"  He ran toward the men.

Sam sighed exasperatedly.  "Sammy, don't bother the soldiers," he yelled as he ran after his giggling son.

"Sir, are you Samwell Tarly?" one of the soldiers asked as Sam tried to wrangle his son away from the men.

"Yes, he is," Little Sam shrieked happily, "and so am I!"  The little boy looked on, clearly awed by the fact that the knights were asking after his father.

"Right then," the captain nodded to Sam.  "The carriage is over there waiting for you.  If you could just direct my men to any luggage you might have, we will be on our way shortly."

Gilly hurried up to them and looked at Sam confusedly.  "What is wrong?" she asked him as she eyed the soldiers suspiciously.

"I have no idea who these men are, but they asked about my name when Little Sam and I approached them," he replied truthfully.

"I am sorry, Ma'am, Sir," the captain stated apologetically.  "I thought you were aware we would be waiting for you this morning.  My men and I are part of the Crown's guard.  His Majesty ordered us to make sure that you arrived safely at the Red Keep."

Sam nodded.  "Thank you, Sirs, but it won't be necessary," he stated.  "We will find our own way to the Red Keep."

Gilly glared at Sam.  "Samwell Tarly, do not be rude!" she snapped.  "Even I know it would be considered an insult to spurn such a gesture from the King."  She nodded to the captain.  "The sailors should be able to direct you to our luggage, Sir," she ordered confidently.  "Make sure your men are careful with the bags as they contain material for Her Majesty's dress."

"Ma'am," the captain bowed slightly and silently directed his men to get the Tarlys' luggage.

Gilly smiled and handed Jeyne to Sam.  "Come then.  Let's get in the carriage," she ordered her reluctant husband.

Sam sighed as he followed his wife and excited son into the ornate Royal Carriage.  Little Sam jumped into the carriage giggling.  "Do we really get to ride to the palace in this?  The King sent this just for us, Papa?" the child asked in awe.

"It appears so, Sammy," Sam stated ruefully as he climbed into the carriage, careful not to wake Jeyne.  He carefully eyed his sleeping daughter and his giddy son.   _We should never have come to King's Landing_ , he thought.   _There are ill omens all around this city._    Sam glanced out the window at the looming towers of the Red Keep as the nervous pit in his stomach grew heavier.   _At least the children should never have come with Gilly and me._  

When they arrived at the Red Keep, Sam noticed the courtiers and servants staring at them curiously.   _So much for arriving inconspicuously,_ he thought sourly.   _Jon should not have sent the carriage for us.  It is bound to stir up jealousies in the Court._ Sam handed the sleeping Jeyne off to Gilly and exited the carriage.  "Please direct my wife to whatever rooms we have been assigned," he ordered the soldiers who had accompanied them.  "And please inform Maester Ebrose that I have arrived.  I have some important packages for him from Archmaester Marwyn."  He pointed to the satchel containing the medicines for the Queen.  "It is urgent business concerning the Queen."

"Aye, Sir," the captain replied.  "I will inform the maester of your arrival."  He nodded to one of his men.  "And you will be wanting to see the King as well."

Sam's face reddened at the mention of his old friend and he shifted his feet uncomfortably.  He knew that he had to warn Jon about the Citadel, but he didn't want to face his old friend just yet.  "Perhaps later," he mumbled.  "It would be best if I spoke with Maester Ebrose first and helped my family settle into our rooms before any such meeting."

Gilly arched her brows knowingly.  "We'll be fine, Sam," she stated firmly as she shifted Jeyne in her arms.  "You and Jon have much catching up to do."

"Gilly," Sam began protesting only to be confronted with his wife's stern face.  He nodded defeatedly at Gilly and then turned to soldiers.  "Where can I find the King?" he asked softly.

"You can wait for His Majesty in the antechamber of his private office near the Great Hall," the captain replied.  "The morning Council session was running late, but he will likely be there in short order." 

"Please direct me to the King's office then," Sam ordered hesitantly.

"Can I go as well, Papa?" Little Sam piped in.  "I want to meet the King with you!"

"Sammy, it will be best if Papa met with the King alone," Gilly told her son gently.  "They have adult things to discuss."

His son's face fell.  "Please, can I go with you, Papa?" he pleaded with Sam.

Sam looked at the sad boy sympathetically.  "Do as your mother tells you, Sammy," he told his son.  "I promise you that you will be able to meet the King soon."

"That isn't fair!" Little Sam whined.  He stood defiantly for a moment before finally reluctantly following his mother into the Red Keep.

Sam sighed as he watched his family leave.  The acolyte walked to the Great Hall as the soldiers had directed him to do.  He hid carefully in the shadows and edges of rooms, trying to avoid the condescending stares and whispers from the Court.  He didn't need to hear any tut-tutting from the gossipy courtiers on top of everything else.

Unfortunately for Sam, his best efforts did not prevent him from running into the one person he wanted to avoid even more than Jon.  "Samwell," his father's gruff voice angrily greeted him as he skirted around the edge of the hallway near the Throne Room.  "Fancy seeing you here."  Randall Tarly looked at him disdainfully as if he wished Sam would disappear.

"I am here with my family.  Gilly has some work she is doing for the Queen," Sam stammered as he looked at his feet.

Randyll Tarly eyed his son.  "So you are still living off your wife's business, are you?" he spat out disdainfully.  "Your sister has distinguished herself as one of the Queen's ladies.  Your brother will be marrying the King's sister," his father reminded him.  "And you pour over books while your savage wife provides for you."

"My mama is not a savage," a hidden voice insisted.  Sam turned around in shock to see his son emerging from the shadows his face scrunched like he was about to cry.  "Stop saying such ugly things about her."  Little Sammy walked up to his grandfather and eyed him angrily.

"Do you know who I am, boy?" Randyll Tarly spit out as he glared at the five-year-old.

"Yes," Sammy yelled.  "You are my grandfather.  Mama and Papa never talk about you outside whispers they don't think I can hear, but I know who you are."  He stared intently at Lord Tarly.  "And I hate you because you are mean!"

"I see that you cannot be bothered to teach your half-savage children their courtesies, Samwell," his father growled.  "I have never heard such insolent words from a child."

Sam looked on in silent shock at his son.  "Sammy, I told you to stay with Mama," he scolded his son.

"I wanted to go meet the King with you!" Little Sam sniffled as he walked toward his father.

Sam sighed.  "Go and find your mother," he insisted.

"No!" Sammy stated as he glared at Randyll Tarly.  "I won't move until he apologizes for calling Mama a savage!"

"Samwell Tarly, go find your mother now," Sam growled at his son.

"No!" Sammy sobbed defiantly with tears streaming down his face.

"What is wrong?" a familiar Northern voice asked.  "I heard a commotion."

Sam's face reddened as he saw Jon approach them followed by his guards. _Gods, this is the last thing I need_ , he thought as he continued to eye his old friend.

"My mama is not a savage!" Sammy shouted again oblivious to the fact that he was in the King's presence.

Jon glared at Lord Tarly.  "Leave us, My Lord, or I will be forced to reevaluate our agreement," the King snapped.  He then smiled gently and crouched down on the ground next to Little Sam.  "You must be Sam," he observed quietly.  "You don't remember me, but I knew you when you were a baby."

Sam stopped sobbing and stared at the crown on Jon's head.  "Are you the King?" he asked quietly.

"You can say that," Jon replied dryly.

"Oh," Sammy stated quietly.  He shied away from the King.

Sam looked at his son.  "I thought you wanted to meet the King, Sammy," he asked confused by his son's reaction.

Little Sam glanced at his father and Jon and began crying again.  "I want to be brave and slay monsters like the King did," he sobbed.

Jon nodded and wiped away the boy's tears.  "Even brave knights cry, Sammy," he told the child.  "Bravery is not the absence of fear but how we react when we are upset.  You were very brave to stand up for your mama."  The King got up and offered Sammy his hand.  "I have a little boy a few years younger than you.  Perhaps you would like to play with Ned?" he asked him.

Sammy stared at Jon in awe.  "I would like that!" he giggled happily.

"Good," the King nodded and led Sammy to his guards.  "Now go with the soldiers.  They'll take you to Ned's nursery."

Little Sam laughed again and followed the soldiers into the Red Keep.

Sam glanced at his feet embarrassedly as his son left.  "I am sorry about that outburst, Your... Jon," he mumbled.  "You did not need to hear such family matters."

"That was much more exciting than listening to Lord Rosby drone on about tax policy," the King stated drolly.  "Plus, your son said things about Randyll Tarly that I would like to say but cannot."  He paused and glanced Sam awkwardly.  "Please walk with me, Sam.  There is much we need to discuss."

"Your... Jon," Sam assented to the King's request and followed him across the promenade and out into the gardens.

The King walked silently out into the garden.  He paused and began speaking tentatively.  "It has been three years, Sam.  I haven't heard from you for three years!  You have never visited or even written a letter.  Why not?" he asked angrily.

"I have my life and you have yours, Jon.  You don't need me interfering with your rule," Sam whispered as he looked at his feet.

"Interfering with my rule?  You think you are a nuisance!" the King snapped.  "You are far from that!  You are my oldest friend and I've needed you!  I've been alone and lost for three years in this damn cesspool!"

"You have been doing fine, Jon.  You are a good king," Sam replied quietly.  "And I don't see how a Citadel acolyte who was disinherited by his father and who is married to one of the Free Folk would have made your rule easier.  You saw how my father reacted to my presence at Court!"

"I don't care!" the King growled.  "Screw them!  Screw all of them!  You are my friend and I need you!"

"It doesn't matter that you don't care!  That is the way the world is, Jon!" Sam snapped.  He began walking away from his friend.

"Fine, that is the way that the world is!" Jon sighed as he watched his old friend leave.  "But tell me, Sam, if you are so determined to avoid the Court, to ignore me, then why are you here now?  What changed all of a sudden?"

Sam paled as he looked at his friend.  He clutched the satchel with Marwyn's potions.  "You needed to be warned," he whispered.  "The Citadel is plotting against you.  They want to neutralize the Queen's dragons."


	23. Arya III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Complications arise when Arya and Dickon begin courting

Arya rolled her eyes as the ladies-in-waiting poked, prodded, and prepared her for meeting Dickon Tarly.  Their incessant chatter was getting on her nerves.   _How do Sansa and Daenerys put up with being surrounded by such ditzes?_ she thought as she grumbled silently at the attendants continued giggling.  She knew that putting up with this silliness was necessary, that she needed to be something that she wasn't for her plan to work.  The games and lies were all for political purposes, but her time in the Court had made Arya less and less inclined to think favorably of such politics.   _The world would be a better place if everyone just said what they meant and meant what they said._ She sighed and stared at her face in the mirror.   _Of course, I am willing to lie and scheme myself if it means that my family will remain safe, especially Jon.  I am as big a hypocrite as they are._

"Look this way, Your Royal Highness, so I can finish your braids," one of the ladies chattered motioning for Arya to turn toward the bay windows in her dressing room.  "Oh, you look so lovely, My Princess!  Quite like the portrait of the King's mother in the south vestibule," the attendant giggled as she finished Arya's intricate hairstyle.  "Ser Dickon will be mesmerized by your beauty."

Arya rolled her eyes again.   _Gods, please shut up already!_ she yelled silently as the giggly attendant put the finishing touches on her hair.

There was a soft knock at the door.  The ladies stopped what they were doing and went to open it.  Jon entered, which caused another round of giggles as the ladies sank into courtly curtsies.

Jon glanced at Arya, his brows narrowed into a slightly annoyed look.  "There is no need for you to stand on any ceremony," he stated in the rote, bored tone he used when he had to deal with ceremony and protocol.

Arya laughed heartily at her brother's annoyance - at least as heartily as the tightly corsetted formal dress she was wearing allowed her to.

The King's eyes glistened and his mouth quirked into a small smile as if he was reading Arya's mind and realized she felt the whole thing was ridiculous as he did.  "Please leave," he ordered the attendants softly.  "I wish to speak with my sister alone."

The ladies curtsied again, which caused Jon to cringe more, and exited the room with more incessant chatter.

"So I see that Dany insisted you be fully attended to by her ladies now that you are officially courting Dickon Tarly," Jon observed drolly as the siblings watched the giddy women leave Arya's dressing room.

"Yes," Arya grumbled as she attempted to rise from her chair without tripping on her skirts.  She thought better of it and sank further into the seat.

"You still seem to have negotiated the better end of the deal regardless," Jon observed evenly.

Arya smirked.  "Indeed I did."

Jon paused and sat beside her.  "Perhaps you should reconsider your demands," he whispered.

Arya looked at her brother confused by his reaction.  "You hate Tyrion," she pointed out.  "You are constantly frustrated by his condescension and nagging.  I thought you would be pleased that he will finally be gone!"

Jon frowned slightly.  "Tyrion and I have a strained relationship, to say the least," he admitted.  The King turned and looked at his sister intently.  "Do you really want to be Hand, Arya?"

"If it means protecting you, of course, I do," she stated softly.

Her brother smiled silently at this statement, but Arya knew that he disagreed with it.  Jon insisted that such burdens were his alone to bear, that he himself didn't need any protecting.  He was likely frustrated that he couldn't continue to shelter and protect her.  "I am the one who should be doing the protecting," the King finally insisted, confirming what Arya already knew.

"Not anymore, you aren't Jon," Arya remarked firmly.  She rose from her chair as fastly as her skirts and corset would allow, nearly tripping over the hems of her dress in the process.  "Blasted skirts," she stated sourly as she pulled her dress above her ankles.  She looked over at her brother.  "Let's get this ridiculous farce over with," she ordered firmly as she reached for the King's right arm.

Jon nodded and escorted her down to the Great Hall where they would meet Dickon Tarly.  As the walked through the sumptuous hallways of the Red Keep, Arya noticed the courtiers and servants whispering.   _They are all wondering if the King's wild sister has been tamed, if I am going to become a proper lady_ , she thought.  She smiled knowingly at all the gossipy courtiers.   _Little do they know that I have no intention of doing so.  Only a few weeks of pretending to swoon over Dickon Tarly and this farce is over with.  I wonder how all these gossipy courtiers will react when I am appointed Hand._   Arya's smile grew even wider as she relished the indignant reaction of the Court to her appointment.  She would finally be able to protect Jon from their scheming.Dealing with the blasted skirts and ditzy attendants and false sugary words would be fine as long as she knew he would be safe.   _I won't lose Jon again_ , she reminded herself.   _These damn skirts, these damn lies are for him._

When they approached the Throne Room, she noticed that Dickon was waiting for them in the east vestibule along with his father, Randyll Tarly.  Her mood soured slightly as she stared at the cantankerous Lord of Hornhill.  However, she hid her distaste as much as she could.

Jon sensed her discomfort and squeezed her hand tightly as they approached the Tarlys, his "king face" on.

Dickon and his father bowed deeply as they approached.

Jon stood tall and guided Arya to Dickon's right arm.  "Ser Dickon, the Crown consents to your request to court Her Highness, Arya Stark," he stated in a firm regal voice.  Her brother slightly hesitated after he finished his pronouncement, his stately king face displaying a trace of doubts, but he finally let go of Arya's arm and moved away from her with a firm, regal nod.

"My King, I promise to take good care of Her Highness," Dickon insisted as he gently grabbed Arya's arm.

"Aye, there are three dragons that will hold you to that promise," the King stated pointedly and then turned to leave the Great Hall.  Her brother walked briskly through the Hall as if he wanted to flee from the scene of a crime as quickly as possible.

 _Jon is angry at himself for what he has just done regardless of my reassurances_ , Arya thought as she watched her brother leave.

"This is indeed a great day," Lord Randyll Tarly stated after the King had left.  A small, smug smile crept on to his sour face.

Arya returned the smile in the most ladylike manner she could conjure.  She disdained Lord Tarly, but she knew that she had to hide her true feelings if she was to pull this charade off.   _Politics.  Games.  Lies.  Hypocrisy.  That is unfortunately how you survived this world_ , she reminded herself.  Arya continued to look at the awful Lord Tarly and his pawn of a son demurely with a large false smile plastered on her face as she continued to silently curse them.  She hated what courtiers like the Tarlys had forced her brother and her to become.  She hated that she was now living this lie, pretending to be a proper lady dressed in a tight corset and unwieldy skirts who was madly in love with a handsome knight.  But it was what it was, playing the Game was the only way to survive.

Dickon shifted slightly and broke the uncomfortable silence.  "My Lady, I thought that perhaps we could walk about the upper city.  It is quite mild out with the breezes coming off the Blackwater.  Many merchants have set up their booths there to cater to nobles attending the Crown Council."  The knight looked hesitantly at Arya waiting for her response.  "That is if Her Highness wishes to do so," he added unsurely

Arya smiled demurely.  "That would be lovely, Ser Dickon," she lied using the sweetest voice she could conjure, "if you could just lead the way."

Dickon nodded and led Arya out of the Red Keep.  The pair walked down to the upper city in an awkward silence, each eyeing the other suspiciously.  The Tarly scion finally broke the uncomfortable silence as they approached the market stalls.  "My Princess, I understand that you lived in Braavos," Dickon stated.  "I have never been to the city myself but I have heard that its beauty surpasses even Oldtown."

Arya nodded uncomfortably.   _I was training to become a Faceless Man, not admiring the scenery_ , she thought as she studied the clueless young knight.  "I did, Ser Dickon," she stated as she continued silently walking toward the market.

Dickon frowned.  It was clear that he was disappointed that she was playing the role of demure, proper woman.   _What did Dickon expect?  That I was going to make a scene?_ she thought disdainfully, her ladylike mask slipping slightly.   _I can play the Game well as the Tarlys can.  As well as my sister can.  As well as the Queen can,_ she added with a silent sniff.   _Just because I understand how stupid the whole thing is doesn't mean I cannot play it._

Dickon continued eyeing Arya nervously as they walked through the market.  He nodded toward a booth where some squires were participating in an archery contest.  "Perhaps, My Lady wishes to shoot a few arrows," he asked her tentatively.  "I remember at last year's Harvest Festival when Her Highness bested all the knights to the dismay of most of the Court.  It was the last time I heard His Majesty truly laugh."

Arya smiled thinking of the horror of the courtiers on that one; she wanted nothing more than to pick up a bow and participate in the contest.  However, she reminded herself of the Game.  "Ser Dickon, I cannot move in this dress," she insisted sweetly.  "It would be best if I cheer you."

The Tarly knight frowned again.  "If My Lady wishes," he stated disappointed by Arya's demurral.

Arya pursed her lips slightly, annoyed by Dickon's reaction.  She walked off to the sidelines where there was a gaggle of ladies cheering on the squires.  She felt a slight tap on her shoulder.  She turned around and groaned slightly as she was confronted with a familiar brown-haired man.  "I cannot speak now, Gendry," she snapped and went back to watching the archers.

"So you are ignoring me," Gendry observed wryly as he continued to stand next to her.  "What have I done wrong?"

"Nothing!" Arya growled annoyed with Gendry's continued pestering.  "Now please leave."

"I won't," the blacksmith insisted, "not until you tell me why I haven't seen you in Flea Bottom for the past week."

Arya eyed Gendry sourly.  "I've been dealing with important business at the Court," she replied testily.

"Such important business that you are watching an archery contest in the middle of the afternoon," Gendry replied.

"Very important," she emphasized angrily.  Arya then turned back to the archery contest and smiled gently as Dickon prepared to shoot the target.

Gendry smiled knowingly.  "So that is why you are dressed so finely like a proper princess and why you have been avoiding me," he stated.  "Is that your intended?" he teased her.  "Arya Stark is going to marry a handsome knight like a good highborn lady?"  He looked at Dickon.  "That is a lark."

Arya glared at Gendry.  "I am protecting my brother and my family!" she growled.

"By becoming what you despise," the blacksmith observed pointedly.

"It isn't like that," Arya snapped.  "I have certain tricks up my sleeves."

"So you are playing political games like some scheming courtier," Gendry observed plainly.  "As I said, you are becoming what you despise."

Arya rolled her eyes.  "Leave Gendry," she ordered sharply.

"Your Highness, is this man bothering you?" Dickon yelled as he dropped his bow and ran toward the pair clutching his sword.

"No," Arya told Dickon.  "Gendry is just an old friend from the War who is now  **leaving**."  She eyed her old friend angrily.

"I am not leaving until Arya admits to whatever charade she is playing," Gendry replied firmly, glancing at both her and Dickon with an amused look on his face.

Dickon stared at Gendry angrily and pointed his sword at Gendry's chest.  "That is Princess Arya, the King's sister, who you are speaking about so familiarly," Dickon growled as he continued to point his sword at Gendry's chest.  "You will apologize to Her Royal Highness for insulting her and be on your way."

"Or you will do what, Ser?" Gendry snarled as he moved Dickon's blade firmly away from his chest.  He searched for something to defend himself and picked up a heavy discarded log.  "I might not have your fancy knight's training, but I've found that such things matter very little in a real fight."  The blacksmith charged back toward Dickon.  "I killed men with less during the War.  Have you ever actually killed a man, Ser?" he taunted the knight.

The two circled each other as the crowd looked at the spectacle aghast.  Arya frowned, kicked off the uncomfortable heeled shoes, and grabbed a bow and arrow.  She stomped up to the two men and pointed the arrow at them.  "Stop it, both of you," she ordered forcefully.  "Stop it now."  Arya continued to aim her bow at the duo.  "I can kill both of you with this arrow.  You know that I can!  So stop now!"

The two men dropped their weapons but continued eyeing each other tensely.

Arya followed dropping her bow and arrow to the ground.  She glared at the two men.  "Imagine creating such a spectacle in the streets of King's Landing!" she snapped.  She stared at Gendry.  "You are insulting Lord Tarly's heir!  Do you want to end up dead!"  She then looked at Dickon.  "And you, Sir Dickon.  You know that Their Majesties expressly forbade dueling during the Council!  You could be stripped of your title and privileges for making such a scene!"

"My Lady, I was just defending your honor," the Tarly scion explained apologetically, his face turning beet red.

"I am perfectly capable of defending my own honor, Ser Dickon," Arya pointed out.  She grabbed her shoes, pulled up the hems of her now muddy dress, and began walking toward the Red Keep.  "Please escort me back to the Red Keep, Ser," she ordered.  She continued walking briskly back to the palace, trying to ignore everything as she walked - Gendry and Dickon and the gaggle of courtiers who were all atwitter about what had just occurred.  She knew that the gossip about the King's wild sister making another scene would reach the inner sanctum of the Red Keep rapidly, to the ears of the sour Lord Tarly, the judgmental Tyrion and Daenerys, and even her beloved brother.  She knew that she should care about the scene and her failure to play the games once again, but she just didn't particularly care about the Court's reaction.  Instead, her thoughts turned back to Gendry's accusations, to the fact that she was becoming what she despised.  Her mind turned again and again to what the lies, games, and hypocrisies that she was engaged in.  It wasn't killing a man in cold blood, but the entire spectacle felt just as bad.

As she strode through the gates of the Red Keep barefoot and disheveled, Arya Stark thought of the family she wished to protect.  She wondered if playing the Game and selling what was left of her soul was worth it.  Despite her silent reassurances, she somehow doubted that it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another warning to Arya/ Gendry fans. This is not a happy ending.
> 
> As for Gendry, yes he is infatuated with Arya. He also is very bitter and hates nobles outside of Arya. Gendry gets the worst of both worlds. He ends being hunted and used because of his father, but he derives none of the benefits of being Robert Baratheon's son. He is basically screw the whole system.


	24. Jorah II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jorah investigates Sam's concerns about the Citadel while dealing with the sudden appearance of his wife.

The two weeks he had spent with Lynesse reminded Jorah why he despised her.  His former wife was as shrill and demanding as she had been when she had left him for Tregar Ormollen ten years hence.  She terrorized the staff at the town hall when they did not cater to her exacting demands.  She whined when Jorah curtailed her extravagant spending habits.  She complained about the hours Jorah spent tending to his duties - quite an irony considering that she had never cared much for his company.  All in all, she seemed as annoyed by him and everything around him as she was when she had abandoned him in Lys.

 _Why did she return to Oldtown then?_ Jorah griped to himself, not for the first time, as he walked along the Honeywine River toward the Citadel, glad to be free of his wife's tantrums for at least a few hours.  Of course, this was a rhetorical question.  The Lord Protector was quite aware of why Lynesse had returned to him- Tregar Ormollen had abandoned her in favor of a younger mistress and she had nowhere else to go, especially after Lord Hightower made it clear that his scandalous daughter was now Jorah's problem.  Jorah rubbed his forehead as he continued walking toward the Citadel and thinking how to deal with the unexpected dilemma of his suddenly returning wife.  There were almost no good answers to the problem of Lynesse.  An annulment would anger the Hightowers.  And while he knew Daenerys would likely support him if he requested one, Jorah could not ask his dear queen for a favor that might lead to the Crown being at odds with the Faith and powerful families in the Reach, especially not now with the sudden return of Petyr Baelish.  No, Lynesse Hightower was a headache that he alone had to bear; he had married her willingly after all.

Jorah grimaced slightly.  Along with the long-term headaches it was causing, the whole Lynesse situation had prevented him from fulfilling his promise to Sam, from investigating whatever plots Marwyn and the Citadel were up to.   _I have not been near the Citadel for the past two weeks_ , he thought grumpily.  His queen was in danger and he had failed to protect her.   _No more,_ he insisted firmly as he strode determinedly to the Citadel library.

He bumped into an eager acolyte as he walked into the Great Library's front atrium.  "Are you Ser Jorah Mormont?" the slight olive skinned Dornish man asked expectantly.

Jorah nodded.  "You must be Alleras," he observed apologetically.  "I meant to speak to you sooner, but have been unable to due to certain events."

Alleras pursed his lips.  "I heard about your domestic situation," the acolyte replied icily.  "Sam insisted that you were devoted to the Queen, but you have sure been sidetracked from supporting her now that your wife arrived."

"I am sorry, Alleras," the Lord Protector repeated.  "I know I should not have let Lynesse's sudden arrival sidetrack me as it has."

Alleras continued to eye Jorah suspiciously.  "Well, you are here now," the acolyte finally relented.  "Perhaps you will have more success prying information from Marwyn than I have had these past weeks," he added as he started walking from the steps of the library and into the narrow hallways that connected the Great Library with the rest of the Citadel.

Jorah followed Alleras.  "I doubt that Marwyn will be willing to open up to me either," the Lord Protector replied.  "He has always regarded me with disdain."

"Why?" Alleras asked confused by Jorah admission.  "I thought that the archmaester would be more open with you because of your devotion to Queen Daenerys."

"My devotion to the Queen is exactly why Marwyn is suspicious of me," Jorah told the young acolyte.  "He knows I will do what is necessary to protect her, including stopping whatever nefarious plots he and the Citadel are currently involved in."

"Oh.  I was suspicious of you," Alleras admitted while they walked toward the clinic.  "I thought that perhaps like the King you would have been willing to overlook Marwyn's plots because he saved the Queen's life."

"He saved her life temporarily, but whatever Marwyn is involved with will harm the Queen eventually," Jorah commented.  "I do not trust him or the tonics and miraculous cures he peddles to the Royal Family."  Jorah frowned deeply as he reminded himself of his distaste for Marwyn and the schemes he was likely concocting against the Crown.

"That is wise," the young acolyte stated, his guarded demeanor toward Jorah dropping slightly as he spoke.  "Cynical, but wise nonetheless."

"Aye," Jorah replied with a slight smile.  "My cynicism has saved me many times.  I only dropped that cynicism for one person."  He looked away from the young Dornishman.   _A woman I can never have_ , he added silently.

Alleras nodded and the two men continued walking through the Citadel in a companionable silence.  They entered the clinic as quietly as possible, hoping not to arouse the suspicions of Marwyn.  However, as usual, their efforts were all for naught; Marwyn seemed to have anticipated their appearance.  The stout archmaester was leaning against a table with one eye fixed on the door.  He smiled wryly when Jorah and Alleras entered.  "I thought that you would come around soon with questions," Marwyn observed calmly to the pair.

"Why?" Jorah asked as he looked at Marwyn confused by this observation.

Marwyn grunted slightly and went back to grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle.  "Samwell seemed quite disturbed the last time I saw him," the archmaester stated as he continued to methodically pound the crushed herbs, not missing a beat as he spoke.  "I suspected that he asked you for advice prior to leaving for King's Landing."

"Aye," Jorah admitted.  "Samwell came to ask for advice.  I had meant to come earlier, but I have gotten sidetracked."

Marwyn paused.  "Sudden appearances by a former wife can have such an effect," he commented drolly.  The archmaester looked at Jorah with a smirk on his face.  "I had forgotten that Lady Hightower looks quite like the Queen," he added knowingly.  "Perhaps an explanation for your infatuation with Her Grace?"

Jorah grimaced slightly at Marwyn's mockery.  Alleras, who had been observing the pair silently, spoke tentatively.  "Archmaester, we - Sam and I - noticed that you were researching dragons when we came to see you last," the young man whispered.

Marwyn's face grew red with anger.  "Aye, boy, I was researching dragons, but as an archmaester, I don't need to explain myself to an acolyte," he snapped.  "If you want to remain in the Citadel, it would be wise if you refrained from rifling through the private research of an archmaester."

Alleras' face sunk and the young man pulled back slightly at Marwyn's threat.  The acolyte finally nodded silently and accepted Marwyn's chastisement.

"Good," Marwyn stated.  "I am glad that bit of conspiracy nonsense is cleared up."  He walked back to his tonics.  "Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have work to finish."

Jorah stared at Marwyn disgusted with his arrogance and grabbed the archmaester's sleeve.  "No, Marwyn, we aren't done with this," he snarled.

"So the Lord Protector of Oldtown is threatening the Citadel now?" Marwyn commented as he removed his arm from Jorah's grip.  "That seems politically unwise, My Lord."

"Right now I don't care," Jorah snapped.  "I think that you are up to something Marwyn, that you are threatening the Queen."

"You are agitated due to Lady Hightower's appearance, so I will forgive you this time," Marwyn stated moving away from Jorah and back toward his tonics.  "But I warn you not to meddle in my affairs, Ser, or I will be forced to mention your interference in the Citadel the next time I am at the Court," he mentioned curtly.  The archmaester's eyes narrowed into angry black beads.  "Perhaps you will find that the Queen values the advice of the man who saved her life on multiple occasions to that of an old knight like yourself."

Jorah continued to stare at the archmaester angrily, his contempt for the man growing stronger by the minute.  "I would not take that wager if I was you, Archmaester," he warned Marwyn.  "I doubt that you will like the outcome."  The knight grabbed the left sleeve of Marwyn's flowing purple robe again.  "Cease whatever conspiracies you are involved in, Marwyn, or there will be consequences."

"I think you are bluffing, My Lord," the archmaester replied calmly, "and you think I am bluffing."  He pulled away from Jorah.  "Perhaps, we should call a detente, Ser Jorah."  He nodded slightly.  "Now I have work to do."  Marwyn turned back to his tonics.  "If that is all, gentlemen, I bid you a good day."

Jorah lingered for a moment, staring at Marwyn, but he eventually nodded slightly and left slowly.

Alleras followed him.  "Why did you leave!" the young man inquired angrily.  "He is involved in some treason against the realm and you refuse to do anything about it.  Do you want the realm to descend into war once more!  For the Queen you supposedly love to be assassinated!"

The old knight glared at the young man. "What did you want me to do, Alleras!" he snapped.  "Should I have threatened Marwyn with my sword?  Perhaps arrested him based on your unproven accusations?"

"Yes!" Alleras replied.  "Perhaps, I would have you do just that.  That is certainly how we would react in Dorne!"

"And the generations-long feuds have gotten the Dornish what exactly, Alleras?" Jorah asked.  "It seems to me nothing more than blood spilled on the Dornish sands and a  neverending cycle of violence and revenge."  He stopped walking and looked at the young man intently.  "The Queen is trying to create a new world and as the Crown's servant, I must do as she wishes.  I cannot just arrest Marwyn regardless of my own suspicions about the man."  Jorah looked at the acolyte, who appeared skeptical of his speech.  "I thought that you, of all people, would be skeptical of the Dornish way.  Isn't that why you left, Alleras?" he asked the young man confused by his reaction.

"I had other reasons," Alleras replied softly.

"Well," Jorah replied.  "Regardless, my decision stands."

Alleras frowned one last look of disapproval.  "So what do you suggest?  Sneaking around the clinic at night and trying to steal Marwyn's research?"

"Perhaps Sam will have success warning Their Majesties," Jorah reassured the acolyte.  However, he knew that wasn't the answer that Alleras wanted to hear.  Truly, it wasn't what he himself wanted to hear.  However, the old knight was at a loss about how to counter the threat from the Citadel.   _I've traveled the known world, escaped from slavers, been cured of grayscale, and saved Oldtown from being burnt to the ground by Euron Greyjoy, but I cannot figure out how to stop the plots of crusty old academics_ , the Lord Protector thought drolly.  Politics and peace were truly more complicated than war, even an apocalyptic war.

"Jorah!  There you are!" a shrill voice shouted before Alleras could voice his further skepticism and Jorah could think up more airy platitudes.

Jorah groaned as Lynesse entered the Citadel hallway followed by a guard carrying a large box teeming with exotic silks and satins from Braavos.   _This is the last thing I want to deal with now_ , he thought bitterly.  However, the Lord Protector smiled at his wife.  Keeping up appearances seemed to be the best way to appease Lynesse for now.  "I was just finishing up some business at the Citadel, My Dear," he told Lynesse.

"Well, I hope it is finished now," Lynesse snapped.  "I have planned a soiree for tonight and I won't have you embarrass me again by missing it because of some ridiculous obligation."

Jorah sighed and eyed the box of expensive clothing again.  "Dear, we discussed you being more frugal with the household accounts," he reminded Lynesse gently.

"And I have been!" Lynesse insisted.  "Merchants gave me those silks free of charge when I reminded them of your position."

Jorah's face reddened.  "You threatened merchants!" he erupted at his wife.

"It is the way the world works, Jorah!" Lynesse pointed out angrily.  "What good is it to be the wife of the Lord Protector of Oldtown if I cannot profit from it!"

"Perhaps I should leave," Alleras stated timidly.

Lynesse turned from her husband to the young acolyte.  Her calculating violet eyes studied Alleras for a silent moment.  "Stay away from my husband, you Dornish tart," she finally threatened the young man.  "I know exactly who your mother and sisters are and I won't lose Jorah to the likes of you."

Alleras' face paled and he nodded fearfully.  The young man scurried away silently, clearly upset by Lynesse's threats.

"Why are you threatening acolytes!" Jorah asked his wife angrily.

Lynesse watched as Alleras scurried away.  "I heard about your silly infatuation with Daenerys Targaryen, and now it seems that your taste in women extends to bookish Dornish tomboys as well," she spat out.

"What?" the Lord Protector asked confused by Lynesse's sudden outburst.  "That is Alleras, one of the acolytes.  He.."

"She, you mean," Lynesse replied icily.  "You cannot be so daft that you didn't know that was a woman."

"Women aren't allowed at the Citadel," Jorah pointed out.

"And they've been disguising themselves as men to attend since time immemorial," his wife replied.  "There is at least one scandal every few years when another woman is discovered disguised as an acolyte by the maesters at the Citadel.  It gets boring after awhile."  Lynesse looked at her husband; she appeared astonished by his cluelessness.  "You have been Lord Protector of Oldtown for three years and you still haven't heard about this!"

"I will give Alleras the benefit of the doubt that he is who he says he is," Jorah replied as the Dornish acolyte darted out of view.

Lynesse glared at Jorah.  "Perhaps you should listen to your wife for once!" she insisted.  "I know women and that is definitely a woman.  She is a spitting image of her mother, Ellaria Sand.  I heard gossip in the city that the youngest daughter, Sarella, ran off a few years back.  I haven't seen Sarella Sand since she was a child, but that girl was definitely Sarella."

"That was the Lady Paramount of Dorne's daughter?" Jorah stated confused by Lynesse's revelation.

"Yes!" his wife replied annoyed by his continued astonishment at her revelation.  She stared at him intently.  "Stay away from that girl, Jorah," she warned.  "She is likely a shrewish harlot like her mother and sisters and I won't lose my husband to the seductions of such a Dornish slut."  Lynesse nodded at the guard carrying her box and motioned for him to leave.  "Come now, Jorah," she ordered him coolly.  "I have a party to prepare for."

Jorah turned to follow his wife back to their manse near the Town Hall.  He eyed the twisting hallways of the Citadel where the mysterious Dornish acolyte had disappeared.  If his wife was correct - and with Lynesse that was always a big if - Archmaester Marwyn wasn't the only person at the Citadel hiding an explosive secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Lynesse is a bitch, but also fun to write. And before anyone comments, Lynesse's anger about Jorah's infatuations is supposed to appear hypocritical.
> 
> As for how Lynesse discovered Sarella's identity so easily, I know it is a bit fantastical. However, the Citadel is basically a motley crew of male outcasts. They might have overlooked Sarella's gender and identity while a titled woman like Lynesse who moved in the same circles as Sarella Sand's family may have been able to figure out her identity quickly.


	25. Daenerys IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany and Jon deal with the fallout surrounding Dickon and Arya and argue about more personal matters.

Daenerys sat next to her husband in a small antechamber off the Great Hall.  She looked on sternly as Dickon knelt before the pair and humbly recited the apology someone, his mother in all likelihood, had prepared for him.

"Your Graces, I sincerely apologize for challenging an unarmed peasant to a duel.  The man was insulting Princess Arya's honor and my anger got the better of me," the remorseful knight insisted.

The Queen glanced at her husband and then at the remorseful knight kneeling before them.  "Ser Dickon, were you not in the Great Hall when the King read our decree forbidding dueling during the Council?"

"I was, My Queen," Dickon admitted quietly as he continued to kneel.

"And yet you still chose to disobey a direct decree from your sworn sovereigns!" Jon interjected angrily.  He looked at his wife.  "I told you that this whole courtship was a bad idea, Dany!  We should end the whole thing right now!"

Dany frowned slightly at her husband.  "No, Jon, you gave your word to Lord Tarly and it would be ill-advised for a king to break his word in such a manner regardless of Ser Dickon's behavior," she insisted.   _And we still have need of the Reach's armies.  The threat posed by Petyr Baelish hasn't vanished_ , she added silently as she squeezed her husband's right arm reassuringly.

Jon nodded grumpily at her and threw his hands in the air exasperatedly.  "Please rise, Ser Dickon," he ordered calmly.  "You will apologize to Lady Arya before the Court."  The King eyed the knight sternly.  "This is the only chance I am giving you," Jon warned.  "If you behave in such a boorish manner again, I will withdrawal my permission for you to court my sister.  Screw the damn consequences."

"I understand, Your Majesty," Dickon stated remorsefully as he rose from the floor.

Jon nodded again, accepting Dickon's apology.  "Now leave before I regret my leniency toward you," he ordered curtly, rubbing his forehead.

"Your Graces," Dickon stated with another quick bow and left the room.

The King rose from his chair and glared at Daenerys.  "I told you that this whole marriage contract was a bad idea," he repeated sullenly.

Dany rolled her eyes.  "Aye, you have mentioned your feelings about the matter at least a thousand times, Jon," she pointed out gently.

"Repetition doesn't make my instincts about the situation any less right, Dany," Jon groaned.  He walked over to the windows and looked out onto the Royal Gardens watching the courtiers and servants scurried about their business.  Her husband was in one of his moods.  Ever since the Starks and the North had arrived, Daenerys had noticed that Jon had felt more imprisoned by his kingship, not less.  She had even noticed that his dreams of the North, of freedom, seemed to have become more vivid, his sleep more restless, now that his direwolf was nearby.

The Queen walked up to her forlorn husband and looked deeply into his sad eyes.   _What do I have to do to make you comfortable with what you are, with who you are, My Love?  To have you feel fulfilled here in King's Landing with your children, with me?_ she thought as she gently stroked Jon's rough cheek and ran her fingers through his unkempt curly hair.  "The Council will end in a few months, My Dear," she reminded him gently.  "We will be at Winterfell in time for the harvest festivals."

The King smiled slightly at her reassurances.  "But the politics of King's Landing, damn marriage contracts with the Great Houses, the threats from Littlefinger and his Targaryen pawn - all this drama won't vanish when we are at Winterfell.  This will all remain.  It will follow us to the North even."

"Aye, the politics and the intrigue will remain, Jon, even after we figure out how to defeat Petyr Baelish," Dany admitted as she caressed her husband's cheek.  "And we must deal with the world as it is in order to build a new world for Ned and Rhae."

"What new world, Dany?" Jon snapped.  "It seems like we are operating in the same old cesspool of backstabbing and corruption!"

"You are being quite melodramatic, My King," Dany observed gently.  "You know of what I speak - the Crown Council."

"A rabble of courtiers conspiring against each other and screaming at each other in the Great Hall," the King snorted.

Dany smiled.  "Then the Charter," she reminded him.

"Words on a piece of parchment that can easily be ignored," Jon pointed out.

"Perhaps, you are right, My Love," Dany replied, "but things need to begin somewhere - with words on a parchment and meetings of nobles yelling at each other."

"Aye, I am just being melodramatic, Dany," Jon admitted gently.  "It is just that I didn't expect the new world to make me feel as dirty and compromised as the old one."

"You know that human nature doesn't change instantaneously, Jon," Dany observed as she slipped her left arm around his waist.

"What if it never changes?" the King whispered, the slight smile on his face slipping into his usual brooding frown.  "What if all my sacrifices are for naught?"

Dany smiled sympathetically at Jon.  She knew that that was what her husband feared the most - that he would lose his entire soul, that he would become like Aegon Targaryen or Petyr Baelish or Ellaria Martell or the hundreds of other courtiers who coveted the Throne for power or for revenge or for wealth.  The high ideals, the new world that they were fighting for was what kept him from falling into despair.  She looked at the Jon as he continued to lean against the window pane - and even those ideals had not prevented him from falling into despair as of late.  She stroked his hair again.  "We've only spoken of affairs of state as of late, Jon.  Perhaps we should take a walk through the gardens where we can speak as Jon and Daenerys, husband and wife, rather than as King and Queen of Westeros," she urged him gently.

Jon continued to look out from the windows.  "I wish we could go out and walk in the city," he said craning his head until he was able to see outside the Red Keep's complex.  "I've lived here for over three years but seen almost nothing of King's Landing."

"We can walk outside the palace walls.  We can even visit the Dragonpit," she whispered gently.

Jon turned to her and smiled weakly.  "A walkabout among the people is far from intimate, Dany," he sighed.  "Or do you want our conversation interrupted by the cheers and heckles of the masses?"

Dany frowned at her husband dismayed by how easily Jon had dismissed a visit to their dragons.  _He wants to ignore that part of who he is,_ she thought angrily.  But she looked again at her forlorn husband and suppressed her urge to snipe at him further.  "So a walk in the gardens it is," she whispered graciously as she grabbed his right arm.

"I would like that, Dany," he whispered and allowed her to lead him through the palace hallways.  The courtiers and servants gave the couple wide berth.  Most of the Court knew not to interrupt their sovereigns when they were together or they would risk waking their king's temper.  The guards tailing them at respectful distance reinforced their relative solitude as they walked through the gardens arm-and-arm, a gentle breeze from the Blackwater cooling the hot afternoon sun.

"I hear that Ned has acquired some new playmates," Dany stated, steering the conversation away from talk of political concerns and toward their children.  "Cecily disapproves of Ned playing with the Tarly children.  She does not think they treat him with the proper deference due to the heir to the Throne."

"Cecily disapproves?" Jon observed amusedly.  "That is not new."  The King pursed his lips and creased his brow.  "Playing with Jeyne and Little Sam will do Ned some good.  I won't have my son grow up spoiled.  He needs playmates who won't cater to his every whim and will treat him like a normal child, not a prince."

Daenerys nodded in agreement with her husband.  She had experienced very little of a normal childhood herself and she admired Jon's determination to give Ned and Rhae something resembling as normal an upbringing as he could.   _He is such a good father_ , she thought.   _Perhaps now is as good a time as any to broach the subject._  The Queen stopped for a moment and squeezed her husband's hand.  "Have you thought about giving Rhae and Ned another sibling?"

"What?" Jon looked at his wife confused.  "Maester Ebrose says you are healthy enough to have another child?"

"No," Dany admitted truthfully.  "Ebrose advised against any future pregnancies.  But I am sure that I can handle another pregnancy."

Jon glanced at her angrily.  "You nearly died less than a year ago, Dany!" he exclaimed.  "I spent days by your bedside helplessly watching as you drifted in and out of consciousness."  He turned away from her; there were tears glistening in his eyes that he did not her to see.  "Why would you even bring up such a matter?" he whispered sadly.

"If I thought that I would die, I would not have even raised the matter," she replied firmly.  "I will be fine."  She paused and turned toward her husband.  "It is our duty as Targaryens to ensure our family's survival," she reminded him.

Jon used the sleeve of his ornate tunic to wipe his tears and turned to her.  "I don't care about the Targaryen line's damn survival," he snapped.  "I care about us, about our family."  He frowned, his eyes threatening to tear up again.  "I would be lost here without you.  How could you even think about doing this to me? To our children?"  He smiled sadly and walked toward her.  "You are not allowed to die, Daenerys Targaryen.  That is an order from your king."  His eyes softened and he looked at her pleadingly as he wrapped her in his arms.

Dany smiled in spite of herself.  When her husband looked at her like that, it was impossible for her to remain angry with him.   _It's the damn puppy dog eyes_ , she thought as she stared deeply into his brown eyes.  "You are not allowed to die either, Jon Stark," she whispered in his ear, using the name he still felt most comfortable with despite her own reservations about it.  Her lips moved from his ear to his mouth and she kissed him chastely on the lips.

The King smiled broadly and moved to embrace her even closer.  "You promise to drink moon tea after," he whispered.

She nodded and began to suck his lips greedily.  "I promise," she replied truthfully, surprising even herself.   _Damn puppy dog eyes,_ she thought as she allowed him to lift her off the ground.

"My King, My Queen," a voice shouted.

"What now!" Jon groaned as he placed her on the ground.

Harrion gestured to the soldiers guarding the King and Queen to part so that he could near his sovereigns.  "We found the man who insulted Princess Arya," the captain stated firmly.  He nodded for his men to bring forward a prisoner with irons on his wrists and pushed the man to the ground.  It appeared that the soldiers had beaten the unfortunate peasant; he had a bloody lip and black left eye.  "We found him at a blacksmith's forge on the Street of Steel.  Witnesses insist that he is definitely the man who insulted Her Highness."

"Why did you beat him?" Dany asked horrified by the man's appearance.  She looked at her husband who was equally horrified by the prisoner's injuries.

"He fled when we tried to take him in for questioning, Your Majesty," Harrion replied.

Jon approached the prisoner.  "So the City Guard cannot apprehend a blacksmith without beating him bloody?" he asked Harrion angrily.

"He is a strong one, My King," Harrion insisted apologetically.

"Royal soldiers should be able to apprehend suspects without such violence," Daenerys insisted as she walked toward the cowering prisoner.  "What is your name?" she asked the man.

The blacksmith remained silent for a few minutes but finally answered the Queen.  "Gendry," he whispered gasping for air.  "Gendry Waters," he coughed again.  He pulled himself up from the groveling position that the soldiers had pushed him into and stared at the King and Queen defiantly.  "I am Robert Baratheon's bastard," he stated, not caring if that secret would cost him his life.


	26. Arya IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya is confronted with the consequences of Gendry's declaration of his parentage.

Arya frowned as she stood in the center of a small antechamber near the Great Hall.  Beside her knelt Gendry guarded by two soldiers.  Jon had ordered a medic to clean Gendry's cuts and bruises; however, the blacksmith's wrists were still bound in irons.  Gendry stood accused of insulting a member of the Royal Family after all.  Jon's bodyguards likely insisted on such a precaution before allowing Gendry in the King's presence.  Gendry whispered to her as both waited in the antechamber.  "I'm sorry, Arya," he insisted.  "I didn't expect some gentle teasing to end in all this."

"Aye, you didn't think," Arya hissed.  "What did you really think would come of all this?  That you would announce that you were Robert Baratheon's natural son in front of the King, he would legitimize you, and we would get married!"  Arya laughed sardonically at that ridiculous fantasy - a tale fit for a child's bedtime story, not something true to life.

"I wasn't thinking, Arya," Gendry replied apologetically.  "I was tired of all the injustices I have faced, of the rich and well-connected and powerful trampling on the peasants."

"My brother is a just and merciful ruler," Arya growled.  She glared at Gendry.  If not for the presence of the guards, Arya would have likely strangled the unfortunate man.  No one insulted Jon by calling him a tyrant, not even Gendry.

The blacksmith looked at her defiantly.  "He is a tyrant like every king that has ruled before him," he spat out as he rubbed his manacled wrists.

Arya walked over to where Gendry was kneeling, grabbed his left shoulder, and looked into his eyes menacingly.  "Jon has given the people guaranteed rights under the Great Charter.  He created the Crown Council.  He has rebuilt King's Landing and improved the lives of the poor.  He spends countless hours fretting about doing what is just and merciful," she snapped.  "My brother is NOT a tyrant.  He is NOT Cersei or Joffrey or your fat drunk father.  Jon is the best king that Westeros has ever had."  She squeezed Gendry's left arm tightly.  "Apologize for slandering my brother in such a manner," she ordered him.

Gendry continued to stare at her unintimidated by her threats.  "There ain't no commonfolk on that fancy Council the King created," the blacksmith pointed out forcefully.  "I don't see many high lords beaten and dragged before the King for some harmless flirting with a woman."

Arya loosened her grip on Gendry's arms.  "You were arrested for dueling in the streets of King's Landing," she reminded him angrily.  "You were beaten because you attempted to flee the City Guard and resist arrest."  She sighed.  "If it makes you feel any better, Dickon Tarly was punished for dueling as well."

Gendry laughed bitterly.  "So this Ser Dickon was chained and beaten for his crime?"

"No," Arya admitted.  "He has to apologize for his actions before the Court."

"Apologize before the Court?  It must have been so traumatic for such a brave knight," Gendry sneered.  "And you still want to argue that the King isn't a tyrant?"

Arya jumped on him and held her right hand back ready to punch Gendry in his blackened left eye, only to be constrained by one of the guards standing the blacksmith's right.  She cursed the guard and tried to wriggle out of his grip.

"What is the meaning of this?" her brother's stern voice rang out before Arya could finish wriggling out of the soldier's arms and give Gendry the beating that he sorely deserved for his insults.

The guard dropped Arya to the ground.  She picked herself off the floor and watched as her brother and his wife entered the antechamber.  Both appeared equally displeased by the situation unfolding before them.  "This peasant was insulting you, Jon!  He called you a tyrant!" Arya explained.

"And because this man said some unkind words about me, you decided that it was necessary to beat him!  He is an unarmed and chained prisoner!" Jon replied calmly.  "I expect more from you than that, Arya.  You cannot use violence to solve disputes, especially ones that are as silly as this one."

"Jon," Arya began.

Her brother looked at her, his king face firmly on.  "Enough, Arya," he ordered.

Arya backed away from Gendry and walked toward where her brother was standing.  Jon smiled at her encouragingly while Daenerys stared at her as icy and disapproving as ever.

Jon's gaze turned from Arya to the soldiers guarding Gendry.  "Unchain the prisoner," he ordered the soldiers.  "And then leave us."

The soldiers looked at their king incredulously.  "This man is accused of harassing Princess Arya and dueling with a knight," one of the guards reminded Jon.  "And he has made his disdain for the King clear since we arrested him."  He looked at the King and Queen concerned.  "It is dangerous for Your Graces to be alone with such a man."

"Aye, a man curses the King and flirts with the King's sister," Jon observed drolly.  "That describes half the Court.  Should I arrest all courtiers who sneer at their king in private?"  Her brother gestured toward Gendry.  "I am sure that many high lords have said worse things about me than this man has."

"Your Grace," the soldiers nodded reluctantly removing the irons from Gendry's wrists and reluctantly leaving the room.

Daenerys eyed Gendry silently for a long moment.  "You are Robert Baratheon's bastard?" she asked him sharply.  "I thought all the Usurper's bastards were killed by Cersei Lannister."

"My Love, this man isn't responsible for his father's sins," Jon calmly reminded his wife.

"The sins of a father should not be visited on his children," Daenerys admitted as she continued to stare at Gendry icily.  "However, this man has proven that he is rebellious as his father, a threat to the Crown," she added acidly.

"I am nothing like that fat drunk who sired me," Gendry spat out.  He rose from his kneeling position, walked up to the Queen, and stared Daenerys straight in the eyes.  "I have received nothing from being Robert Baratheon's son other than heartache and danger.  I renounce him and his name.  All you nobles can go to the Seven Hells."

Jon walked toward Gendry and motioned for him to move away from the Queen.  "If you hate your father, Gendry, why did you announce that you were his son so openly in front of your sovereigns?" the King asked firmly.

"For no reason," the blacksmith stated angrily.  "I thought that if I was going to die, I might as well die as defiantly as possible, _Your Grace_."

"Regardless of what you imagine, sir, the Crown of Westeros doesn't execute prisoners for trivial offenses.  I take the pledges that I've made to the people of Westeros in the Great Charter seriously," her brother replied calmly.  The King continued to stare at Gendry intently.  "What do you want, sir?" he asked the prisoner standing before him.  "Why are you getting yourself entangled with the nobles you purport to hate?"

"No reason particular," Gendry replied haltingly.  He glanced nervously at Arya.

Jon glanced at the blacksmith's gesture knowingly and smiled slightly.  "You love my sister," he observed softly.

Arya turned beet red at this observation.  "Nothing has happened, Jon!" she interjected.  "I just sometimes visit with Gendry.  He is an old chum, someone who I met during the war, and it is nice to speak with someone who isn't a scheming courtier."

The King laughed heartily.  "You are a grown woman, Arya.  I don't care with whom you choose to associate.  I am the last person who should disdain someone because he was born a bastard."  Her brother's expression then turned serious.  "However..." he added.

"Your association with this man has caused serious political issues, Arya," Daenerys finished her husband's thoughts.  "The Crown needs to strengthen its alliance with the Reach.  We need the Tarlys."

Jon nodded reluctantly.  "I am sorry, Arya, but you gave a promise to Ser Dickon.  I must insist that you keep that promise until we figure out how to deal with Petyr Baelish."  He looked apologetically at Arya.  "You cannot be seen galavanting around King's Landing with another man when you are supposed to be courting the Tarly heir.  Your association with Gendry has already caused a minor scandal."

Arya sighed.  "I know, Jon.  I have been on my best behavior as of late.  I only wish to protect you."

The Queen stared at Arya sternly.  "How come scandal seems to follow you, Lady Arya, even when you are on your best behavior?" she asked skeptically.

The King squeezed his wife's arm.  "This incident is not Arya's fault, My Dear.  The blame lies with the men who decided to duel in the streets of King's Landing, not my sister," he reminded his wife.

Daenerys nodded, a slight frown remaining on her face.  "My husband has defended your intentions, Lady Arya," she stated tartly, "as he always does."  She eyed Jon angrily.  "Far be it for me to contradict the King on matters concerning his family."

Arya eyed the Queen angrily.  "I understand the necessity of avoiding scandal, Your Majesty.  I pledge to you as a Stark that I will do nothing to endanger the Crown's precious alliance with the Reach," she replied coolly.

"A wise and mature declaration, Sister," Jon declared, attempting to play peacemaker between Arya and Daenerys.

"We should expect nothing less than such wisdom and maturity from our future Hand," Daenerys replied curtly, dismissing her husband's praise.

"That is what you are getting in return for this stupid act you are putting on, Arya," Gendry snapped.  His face was wrinkled and bright red with anger.  "You are just like all of them, Your Royal Highness.  You are willing to sell your soul for power."  He glanced at the King and Queen, gave Their Majesties an abrupt and shallow bow, and exited the room, daring the guards posted at the doors to stop him.

Jon nodded discreetly to the guards to allow Gendry to pass and the blacksmith stormed out of the room unhindered by the guards.

Arya watched with dismay as Gendry left.  She was ashamed of her actions, of what she had become.  She had lost one of the few people who she could be herself with her, who challenged her.  The only person she cared for more than the blacksmith was her brother.   _Perhaps I can go and reason with Gendry, help him understand the way the world works_ , she thought.  _Why I must play such noxious games to protect my family._   Arya nodded to the King and Queen and turned to leave.

"Arya, don't go after Gendry," Jon ordered.  "You promised you would avoid scandal."

"I don't care, Jon," Arya insisted.  "I need to make things right with Gendry."  She looked at her brother pleasingly.  "I promise that I will do as you request as long as you grant me this one favor.  I need to at least try to explain myself to him now."

The King smiled slightly and nodded his assent to Arya.

Arya smiled at him and raced from the room to hopefully justify her actions to one of the only men she might actually love.

* * *

Unfortunately for Arya, Gendry was nowhere to be found.  She looked at him in his regular haunts - his small smithy on the Street of Steel, the docks along the Blackwater, his favorite tavern in Flea Bottom- but it seemed as if Gendry had disappeared into thin air.  Arya finally curled up behind a barrel and began rocking back and forth. _He is truly gone_ , she thought.  Gendry had disappeared into thin air and with him her sole remaining connection to the world outside the cesspool of the Court.

"The true heir, my ass.  That Aegon character is nothing but a fraud," a voice boomed from the docks behind where Arya was hidden.

Arya shifted out from behind the barrels and watched as two sailors walked by her position.   _Not sailors,_ she thought as she observed their unkempt appearance.   _Smugglers likely._ She crept behind the pair, straining to hear what they were saying about Aegon Targaryen.

"He is the son of a whore from Lys.  Illyrio purchased him for a small bag of silver," the smuggled continued.  "Probably paid too much for the baby.  Silver-haired street urchins from Lys ain't worth more than a bronze."

"Ain't that right," the man's companion snorted.  "I wonder what that fat slob planned to do with Aegon if he lived.  Display him as a curiosity like he did the dragon whore and her brother for a time?"

"The Iron Bank and the merchants of the Free Cities have been obsessed with controlling Westeros for decades," the first smuggler stated.  "Aegon was their best pawn.  Viserys always took after his mad father - too much of a risk."

"Pity for Aegon that his benefactors died of the plague before they could seat him on the Iron Throne," the other man replied snidely.

"And thankful for us.  The only thing worse than being ruled by that dragon bitch and her pet Northerner would be being ruled by the Iron Bank," the first sailor observed curtly.

 Arya cringed slightly as she heard the smuggler mock Jon, but she remained still and continued to listen in on the smugglers' conversation.

"You should tell the City Guard, Yorrick," the second smuggler urged his companion.  "You would probably be rewarded handsomely by the Crown for this."

"With what?  A bag of gold?" Yorrick replied contemptuously.  "A war between the Targaryens and the Iron Bank would be worth quite a bit more."

"Ain't that right!" Yorrick's companion laughed.  "The chaos would drive up smuggling profits quite nicely."

Arya crept behind another barrel, her face growing pale as she watched the smugglers walk away.  Her thoughts turned away from finding Gendry to protecting her brother.   _Jon remains in danger,_ she reminded herself.   _I've been selfish, putting my petty concerns before the real threats to his life._   And Arya Stark crept away from the docks near Flea Bottom and into the Red Keep with a renewed determination to protect her family, especially her brother, from the threats all around them.


	27. Jon V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Arya find themselves in an interesting predicament when they investigate Arya's suspicions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon does something dumb because it is Jon.

Jon crept along the narrow alleyways of Flea's Bottom following Arya's lead and trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.  The King smiled as he walked along the crowded path breathing in the putrid air.  It stank of rotting fish and raw sewage, but it smelled heavenly compared to the perfumed and sweet air of the Red Keep.   _This is the most I have seen of King's Landing since I arrived three years ago_ , Jon thought as he continued to savor the lively atmosphere.  That statement was, of course, an exaggeration.  Tyrion insisted that the King and Queen be visible to their subjects and devised quite a few official outings for that purpose.  However, this felt more freeing than some choreographed visit to an orphanage or the Great Sept where he was surrounded by bodyguards "protecting" him from his people, where he was expected to play the role of gracious Targaryen king. _It is not the North, but if I was allowed this existence - to walk freely among my people rather than be confined in the Red Keep, to be ignored as an anonymous peasant rather than schemed against by courtiers and feared by the commonfolk- perhaps I could be happy in King's Landing just like Dany constantly prays that I will be._ But Dany didn't want him to be happy living in King's Landing, she wanted him to be happy as her Targaryen king, happy presiding over the cesspool of the Court as Jaeherys Targaryen, the Third of His Name.  It was an identity and a role that he would never fully feel comfortable with.   _My name is Jon, not Jaeherys, and my father is Ned Stark, not Rhaegar Targaryen_ , he reminded himself again.

"Watch where you are going, cunt," a drunk shouted rousing Jon from his reverie and pushing him aside.

"I am sorry, sir," Jon stated plainly as he stepped away from the drunk peasant.

"Stay out of my way," the drunk growled as he charged toward Jon with his fists raised.

Jon grabbed the hilt of his sword and quickly sidestepped the drunk again.  The man stumbled and fell to the ground, passing out in the process.

Arya pulled out Needle ready to defend Jon but ended up keeling over in laughter instead.  "I wonder what that drunken lout would think if he realized he committed a capital offense," she giggled.

Jon glanced the unconscious man uncomfortably.   _He would probably grovel before me pleading for his life_.  That was how most commoners acted when they met their king.  "Be quiet, Arya," he insisted.  This whole thing wouldn't work if people figured out who he was.   _I'm supposed to be inconspicuous_ , he reminded himself as he pulled his plain black cloak tighter around his shoulders.

"Are you really sure this is a good idea?" Arya whispered as the siblings stepped away from the unconscious man.

"When did you start caring whether something was a good idea?" Jon asked his sister.

Arya paused in the dark alleyway.  "Since my sworn king requested that I remain out of trouble," she pointed out quietly.  "That was just this afternoon."  She eyed him warily.  "And then just a few hours later the same king insisted that I take him down to Flea Bottom to investigate the utterings of some smugglers.  Couldn't you have just ordered Varys to investigate?"

Jon frowned slightly.  The logical side of him knew that this whole excursion was a very bad idea.  He should have just ordered Varys to investigate the smugglers Arya encountered.  However, Jon was first-and-foremost a man of action.  He was tired of barking out orders to his advisors and hiding behind the walls of the Red Keep and the swords of his guards.   _Everything I care about, -the North, my siblings, my wife and my children- are being threatened by Littlefinger and his Targaryen pawn and yet I'm not allowed to do anything to protect them!_ he thought angrily.  He continued to walk purposefully through the alleyways of Flea's Bottom.  "What are we supposed to be searching for?" Jon asked ignoring Arya's earlier inquiry.

"The tavern where smugglers congregate is yonder on the left," Arya stated.  "Perhaps you were wondering how I knew about issues with the quality of the wood for the ships in the new fleet."

"You are resourceful as ever, Sister," Jon praised her with a broad smile on his face.  "I expect nothing less from you."

Arya smiled slightly.  "Good," she replied.  "Then, let me do the talking."

"I spent years with the Night's Watch," the King argued.  "I can handle myself among smugglers."

Arya rolled her eyes.  "Just let me do the talking, Jon," she whispered insistently.

Jon grumbled.  He was perfectly capable of blending in among the commonfolk.  However, Jon bit his lip and followed Arya's lead rather than continuing to argue the point with her.

Arya nodded slightly and walked up to the door of a nondescript hovel.  She knocked twice and waited.  The door opened, answered by a fat balding man with small beady black eyes and rotting teeth.  He took one look at Arya and smiled.  "Ah, Rosie, I didn't expect to see you again so soon," he stated plainly.

"Why not?  I got business to attend to, Jimmy," Arya replied nonchalantly as she stared at the barkeep.

"And this is the best establishment to conduct such business," Jimmy smiled, his black teeth showing.  He stepped aside and allowed Arya to enter.

His sister smiled and motioned for Jon to follow.

Jimmy blocked the door before Jon could enter.  "Said that you could enter, Rosie, not him.  Don't know who this man is.  Could be an informant from that spymaster for all I know."

Arya sighed.  "That is just Rickard, my business associate.  He is a trader from White Harbor looking for the cheapest way to ship lumber from the far north to Braavos," she lied convincingly.

The barkeep eyed Jon warily.  "Why should I let some fancy trader, especially one from White Harbor, come into my tavern?  I heard that one of Lord Manderley's sons is marrying the King's sister.  For all I know, this fancy trader is connected with him."  He spat on the ground with the mention to the Royal Family.

Arya continued to stare at Jimmy menacingly.  "Because..." she began.

"Let the fancy "Lord" Rickard speak," Jimmy interrupted.  "I want to hear his reasoning from his own damn mouth, not yours, Rosie."

"Because before I make a business deal, I want to look a man in the eye and shake his hand, Sir," Jon replied truthfully as he looked the tavern owner firmly in the eye.

Jimmy laughed at this response.  "He even called me "sir."  What does he think this is?  A proper tea party at the Red Keep?" the barkeep observed snidely.  He eyed Arya again.  "I'll let "Lord" Rickard in on your account, Rosie, despite his airs.  But don't expect any more favors from me."

"Never expect any favors from you, Jimmy," Arya replied sarcastically.  She motioned for Jon to follow her into the dank and crowded room.

His sister seated himself on a stool in a dark corner.  Jon grabbed another stool and sat next to her.  "So what do we do now?" he whispered loudly.

Arya sighed.  "Observe," she replied.  "And wait."

Jon grumbled.  "So we are just going to sit in this tavern all night and hope that these smugglers appear?"

"Aye, Rickard," his sister stated testily emphasizing the cover alias she had just given him.  "What did you think?  I cannot conjure smugglers out of thin air."

The King glared at his sister.  "So it is unlikely that we will encounter the two men that you overheard," he observed grumpily.

"I told you that this was a bad idea," Arya pointed out.

"No, it is fine," Jon sighed.  He glanced around the dimly lit room, searching for anything unusual and finding nothing.  "At least it is a night away from..." he admitted frustratedly.

"Hush, _Rickard_ ," Arya snapped before Jon could complete his thought.

"Ale, Rosie?" a serving wench asked Arya.  The woman then smiled flirtatiously at Jon.  "And who is this new fella with you?"

Arya groaned.  "Forget it, Martha.  You do not want to cross Rickard's wife."

"Pity," Martha stated disappointedly as she continued to stare at Jon.  "So ale then?"

"No thanks.  We're here on business," Jon replied distractedly.

"Two tankards of ale, please," Arya stated.  She looked at Jon annoyed.  "Try not to make yourself seem so conspicuous, Rickard," she hissed.

"We are here on a mission, Ar... Rosie," Jon pointed out.

Arya flinched at his misstep.  "And it will do us no good if we get thrown out of the tavern.  Or worse.  Flea Bottom has a reputation for being dangerous at night."  She spied two men entering the tavern who peaked her interest.

Jon glanced at the men.  "Is that them?" he whispered.

"Perhaps," Arya replied.  "Stay here and let me do the talking, as you promised," she ordered.

"What do you want me to do?" Jon asked.

"Pay for our ale," she stated discreetly tossing a money pouch to Jon.

Jon grumbled and watched uneasily as his sister walked toward the shady interlopers.  He stared at Arya as she engaged with the smugglers, keeping his right hand on the hilt of his sword in case he had to engage.

"Right, love.  Here are your ales," Martha flirted, placing the tankards on a nearby table.

Jon nodded and handed her a silver coin as he continued to keep a wary eye on Arya

"A rich one, you are," the tavern wench took the coin and continued to flirt with him.  She slipped her hand down his left side.  "Are you sure you don't want to have some fun, dear?" she asked seductively.

Jon blushed.  "I am married... er...Martha," he stuttered as he turned away from his sister and toward the tavern wench.

Martha removed her hand from his waist.  "That is a pity," she whispered seductively.  "I always found Northerners to be more fun in bed than perfumed Southern lords."

Jon grunted slightly at the woman and tried to return to observing his sister.  He watched as a suspicious man crept up behind his sister.  The King flinched slightly and his instincts kicked in.  He grabbed his sword hilt and ran toward his sister.  "Watch out," Jon yelled.

Arya turned startled by Jon's words and saw the man walking toward her, his right hand holding something at his waist.  She grabbed a tankard from a nearby table, splashed the remaining ale in his eyes, and smashed the pewter mug over his head.

Jon rushed toward the man and pinned him to the ground.  "Who are you?" he shouted.

"I know it was you, Rosie," the man yelled as Jon struggled to restrain him.  "You are the one who snitched on me about the faulty timber for the royal ships. You cost me a fortune, you damn bitch."

"Don't know who you are, cunt," Arya spat out.  She edged away with her hand on the hilt of Needle and motioned silently for Jon to follow her to the door.

Jon pulled himself off the man and began to slowly follow his sister to the door.  The dimly lit tavern room was on edge as the siblings crept to the door.Jon's eyes darted around the room searching for any signs of trouble.  He spied the two smugglers in the back in an intense conversation with the bar wench who had been aggressively flirting with him just moments earlier.  _Seven hells,_ he thought to himself as he continued staring at the trio.  The King stared at his sister.  "Arya, watch out!" he whispered loudly, not caring about her cover identity.  He grabbed his sister's arm and moved his body in front of hers to protect her.

Arya glared at Jon, clearly annoyed at him blowing her cover.  She grabbed Needle and moved to defend herself.  "Behind you," she hissed.

Jon turned and faced the man who had attacked Arya.  He reached for his sword and stood ready to defend himself.

"As I suspected, that bitch is a spy," the man shouted.  "And you must be one as well if you are with her."

Jon took the pommel of his sword and knocked the man over with it.   _You would be surprised who I am_ , he thought wryly as he scanned the horizon for any more threats to his sister.  However, brawling had erupted all around him and Jon could not find his sister in the din of the crowd.  "Arya," he yelled, not particularly caring about whether they are discovered.  As he searched for his sister, Jon felt a sharp pain in his left leg.  He keeled over in pain and looked up in shock as he was knocked to the ground.

The sellsword hovering over him smirked.  He held a dagger in his hand and began lunging toward the Jon.  Jon rolled out of his way and got up with the help of a stool.  He grabbed the stool and used it to smash the man over his head.  His assailant crumpled to the ground and Jon hovered over him with his sword.  "Please, Milord," the man screamed as Jon hovered over him.

Jon grimaced slightly due to the pain in his leg and scanned the crowded room for his sister.  "Arya!" he shouted as he scanned the room for his sister, hoping that his voice carried over the din of voices and crashing bar stools.  He began to walk carefully toward the door gingerly limping on his left leg.   _Perhaps she already escaped in the chaos_ , he reassured himself as he crept closer to the door.  As he turned to leave, a fist slammed into the left side of Jon's face causing him to topple to the floor with a loud thud.

"I ain't done with you, cunt," the assailant who Jon had allowed to live only minutes earlier growled.  The man pulled out a dagger and ran toward him with the blade.  Jon tried to move aside but his sore and bruised body wouldn't allow him to get out of the way.

Before the sellsword could bury the dagger in Jon's neck, Jon heard a heavy whack followed by the man falling to the ground with a thud.  Two strong arms pulled Jon up and began dragging the King toward the tavern door.  "Why am I getting involved with this?" the man dragging him toward the door asked himself grumpily.  "This is bound to end badly."

Jon squinted to make out the man who had just saved his life.  It was Arya's friend, the blacksmith.  "Gendry?" he coughed confused.  "Why?"

"Thought perhaps I owed you for sparing my life and letting me go," Gendry stated plainly.  He continued to help Jon walk toward the door quickly.  "We have to hurry.  The folks around here will be even less inclined to let you live if they figure out your identity!"

Jon shook his head.  "Not without my sister," he gasped.  "Not without Arya."

"Arya is with you!" Gendry paled.  The blacksmith scanned the room for Arya, and not seeing her he froze with fear.  "Right," he said.  "I'm going to get you out of here and then I promise you that I'll find your sister."  He glanced at Jon.  "Just promise me that you won't do anything stupid.  At least anything even stupider than you already have.  I don't particularly like kings, but I don't suspect that one being killed in Flea's Bottom will turn out well for the folks around these parts."

"Halt," a voice called out from the doorway.

Jon stared at the door as a squad of City Guard entered the room.  The general commotion and various fights around the tavern room came to a standstill at the entrance of the soldiers.  Jon gulped heavily.  "Gods, this isn't good," he whispered solemnly.

Gendry looked at him confused.  "It is the City Guard.  They're sworn to protect you, I thought," he whispered.

"Dany doesn't know that I'm here," Jon replied guiltily.  "No one except Arya knows I'm here."  The King moved awkwardly attempting to shift weight from his sore left foot.

"Dany?" Gendry asked confusedly.  "Oh, that Dany," he added suddenly realizing who Jon was referring to.  "Right, I wouldn't want to get on your wife's bad side either.  Perhaps just stay hidden in the corner.  The guards might not recognize who you are if you don't draw any attention to yourself."

Jon nodded and limped into a dark crevice of the tavern followed by Gendry.  He prayed that Arya was safe and that they would be able to sneak away together through the streets of Flea Bottom and back to the relative safety of the Red Keep undetected.

"This is the second time this week I've had to deal with a loud disturbance at this establishment," the leader of the guards stated calmly.  The soldier scanned the room as he spoke, his right hand remaining firmly on the hilt of his sword.  "I ought to have the magistrate shut this tavern down."

The fat, balding barkeep walked from the back of the room dragging along an unkempt, but relatively unharmed Arya under his left arm.  Arya squirmed and shouted out unintelligible curses as the man continued you to drag her to the front of the tavern and dropped her at the feet of the soldiers.  "This one who calls herself Rosie started it," he spat out.  "Her and some fancy trader from the North that came with her."  The barkeep's beady black eyes darted around the room, clearly searching for Jon.  "That is him, in the left corner right there," the man pointed out Jon to the guards.  "He is trying to hide.  Fancy lord who comes down to Flea Bottom to do gods know what and gets into a fight ruining my tavern," he spat out angrily.

Jon gulped again.   _Gods, she is going to kill me_ , he thought guiltily as he limped a few steps toward the squad of soldiers.  Jon heard some confused murmurs from the soldiers as he edged toward their lieutenant reluctantly.

"Wait," the lieutenant said cautiously as he examined Jon.  "You look like...  No that cannot be."

The King turned red.  "Yes, it's true," he admitted awkwardly.  He spied Arya glaring at him and shrugged his shoulders apologetically.

"Your Grace," the captain stated reverently and motioned for his men to kneel as the tavern's patrons stared at Jon frozen in shock.

"There is no need for that," Jon replied motioning for the soldiers to remain standing.

The lieutenant stared at Jon's black eye and bloody nose.  "My King, are you badly hurt?" he stated concerned.

"I've dealt with worse," Jon replied trying to shrug off any concern about his injuries.  "It was partially my fault this fight started," he added as leaned on a barrel to rest his sore leg.

"Your Grace, what are your orders," the lieutenant asked firmly.

Jon straightened his sore body out and tried to project as much authority as he could.  "Those three men back in the corner have information about the true identity of Aegon Targaryen," he stated firmly.  "Arrest them as well as a barmaid by the name of Martha," he sighed and leaned on the table.  "Fine the rest here five coppers and allow them to leave."  The King grabbed the money belt that Arya had given him and pulled out ten coppers.  "Lady Arya and I are as guilty of brawling as the rest.  No man ought to be above the law, not even a king."

The lieutenant accepted the coppers but looked at Jon confused.  "Your Grace, assaulting the King is a capital crime," he reminded his sovereign.

"What is a capital crime is up to me," Jon snapped.  He stared at the commonfolk who were witnessing the scene silently with a mixture of awe and silence.  "I know that you hate the Crown and the lords and perhaps you are right to do so.  But I have no desire to rule as a tyrant.  Hopefully, this act of justice will prove my intentions."  The King limped slightly and nodded.  "Have some of your men escort Lady Arya and I back to the Red Keep," he ordered the lieutenant.

"Your Grace," the lieutenant replied with a deep bow and began barking out orders to his men.

Jon nodded and gingerly limped to the door followed by an annoyed Arya and a small army of soldiers.  He glimpsed back at the dingy tavern once more before limping from the door.  He sighed as he prepared to return to the stifling atmosphere of the Court with its plots and endless duties.  The King breathed in the putrid air of Fleas Bottom, one more small taste of freedom before he faced the consequences of this disastrous outing.  He sighed once more and continued to limp toward the Red Keep assisted by two soldiers. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay a few things about this chapter.
> 
> 1\. This is before even photographs, so I thought that Jon not being recognized might be possible. The soldiers recognize him almost immediately, however, because they were allowed in the King's vicinity in contrast with peasants who have likely never caught a glimpse of their king.
> 
> 2\. Yes, Jon was merciful at the end, but I really don't want people to think this is some Disney story about a good king. This was meant to be a contrast to later scenes. Let's just say that all men have their breaking point.
> 
> 3\. I know that Gendry showing up is deus ex machina. But I wanted him there to set off future events. Let's say that the poor man's good deeds don't go unpunished.


	28. Daenerys V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany reacts to Jon's misadventure in Flea Bottom

The Queen paced back and forth in the foyer in Jon's private solar, her light blue dressing gown swishing as she walked.   _How could he!_ she thought angrily to herself.   _How could he endanger himself in such a manner!_   She mumbled audibly as she continued to pace, her annoyance with her husband's actions causing her temper to boil over.

"My Queen, I am sure that the King had good reasons for his secret excursion down to Flea Bottom.  His Majesty surely was just trying to protect his family," Talla reassured her queen timidly, clearly hoping to quiet Daenerys' angry mood.

"I doubt it, Lady Talla," Daenerys snapped pausing from her endless pacing.  "More likely than not my husband decided to play commoner for the night because he hates being king."

"I am sorry for making such an assumption, Your Grace," Talla bowed low, shaking slightly due to the Queen's anger.

"It is fine, Talla," Daenerys stated reassuring the nervous attendant.  Dany knew that she should not have taken her anger out on her ladies, and she definitely should not have expressed her true thoughts so freely to Lord Tarly's daughter.  The Queen smiled gently and nodded slightly at Talla.  "You are dismissed, Lady Talla," she ordered coolly.  "I wish to be alone."

"If that is what my queen wishes," Talla stated reluctantly, bowing deeply before departing the sitting room.

Dany pulled her robe around her more tightly and began angrily pacing the room again.   _How could he!_ she muttered to herself again as she walked the length of the room.

Maester Ebrose emerged from the King's bedroom and bowed deeply to her.

The Queen rushed toward the maester.  "How is my husband?" she asked him anxiously.

"His Grace only had minor injuries - a sprained ankle, a few bruised ribs, and some cuts on his face.  I've given him a tonic that will ease his pain and help him sleep," Ebrose reassured her.  "I recommended that he recuperate for a few days, advice the King didn't take kindly."

Daenerys nodded at the maester.  "I will make sure that His Majesty rests," she insisted and strode purposely through the door into Jon's bedroom.

The King was lying in bed, his head and bandaged left foot propped up on pillows.  He eyed her guiltily.  "I am sorry," he whispered.  Ghost, who was sitting at the foot of Jon's bed, loudly grunted his agreement with his owner's remorse.

"Sorry?" Daenerys looked at him angrily.  "Sorry doesn't begin to describe the remorse you should feel for this stunt."

"Arya said that there were two smugglers who knew about Aegon Targaryen's true identity.  I just wanted to protect our family," Jon stated, trying to soften her anger.

"You went to a tavern in the middle of Flea's Bottom without your bodyguards," Daenerys growled.  "You almost got yourself killed in a brawl."

Jon bit his lip.  "I said I was sorry," he pleaded with her.  "I just..."  Her husband frowned deeply and looked away from her.  Ghost nuzzled up to Jon and licked his face, trying to comfort his master.

Daenerys sighed, feeling momentarily sorry that she had yelled at her husband.  However, her flash of sympathy passed and her purple eyes again darkened with anger.  "I need you safe, Jon.  Our children need you as their father.  This country needs you as its king," the Queen snapped.  "If you refuse to allow me to risk my life to bear you another child, then I refuse to allow you to risk your life by sneaking around King's Landing without your guards."

"I promise this won't happen again, Dany," Jon mumbled.

"I mean it, Jon," Daenerys stated firmly.  "There will be no more late night excursions to Flea Bottom."

"Aye," Jon said and patted Ghost on the direwolf's head.  He seemed resigned and almost sad about his promise.

Dany smiled sadly at her husband.  She wished that Jon would be comfortable with who he was rather than wishing for a life that could not be.  She walked over toward the head of the bed, kissed her injured husband gently on the cheek, and rubbed Ghost's back.  "Get some rest, My King," she ordered him.

Jon's brows furrowed.  "It is near dawn," he reminded her.  "The Council..."

"You have a sprained ankle and swollen face, Jon," she reminded him.  "You are in no state to appear in Court."

Jon frowned.  "But..." he began.

"Recuperate and follow Maester Ebrose's recommendations," the Queen ordered firmly, shutting down her husband's protestations.

Jon pouted playfully.  "I am king and yet I still find myself constantly following your orders."

"Aye, a wife has the right to expect her husband to obey her wishes regarding his health and safety, even if that husband is a king," Daenerys observed half seriously, half playfully.  She squeezed his hand once more and turned to walk out of the room.  "And reviewing official paperwork and signing decrees is not resting," she added before shutting the door and leaving Jon to recuperate.  "I will know if you go to your office, Jon.  I have spies among the maids."

The Queen strode firmly through the hallway and to her dressing room to prepare herself for the morning Council session.  "My Queen, may I have a word with you," Lord Varys called out.  "I'm sorry to disturb you in such a state but you requested that I come to you as soon as I received any information."

"You are not disturbing me, Lord Varys," Daenerys replied calmly.  "But I am surprised that you are here.  The prisoners were willing to talk so freely?"

"No, My Queen, they weren't," Varys replied.  "They insist that they know nothing about the plots of Littlefinger or his pawn other than what little Lady Arya overheard."

"Then why did they try to murder the King?" she asked sharply.

"The prisoners insist that robbery was their motive," the spymaster stated.  "Jon stood out like a sore thumb in the tavern and they thought he would be an easy mark."

"You believe them?" the Queen asked agitatedly.

"Not exactly, Your Grace," Varys replied carefully.

Dany glared at the spymaster.  "They nearly killed my husband," she snapped.

"Yes, My Queen, they did," Varys agreed.  "And perhaps there is another way to get the information we need."

 The Queen frowned.  "What you are advocating, Lord Varys, is outlawed in the Great Charter," she reminded him sharply, "the Charter that you helped Tyrion draft."

Varys sighed.  "I know the Charter, Your Grace, and I am not advocating breaking it.  There are techniques we can use that are permissible under the Charter," he stated plainly.  The spymaster stared at her with a slight frown on his face.  "I don't like this decision any more than you do, but desperate times call for desperate measures.  Littlefinger is a serious threat to Westeros."

"It violates the spirit of the Charter.  Jon will never approve of such methods," Daenerys argued firmly.

"Which is why I am not asking the King," Varys replied.

"Ah, yes, you are asking Daenerys Targaryen instead because you know that she is already a morally corrupted tyrant who will assent to whatever evil methods you suggest unlike her merciful and good husband," the Queen ranted.  "Well, I am tired of being the hated villain to Jon's saintly king.  I am not some tyrant who only covets power.  I want to rule with justice and mercy as much as my husband."  She glared at the spymaster.  "So no, Varys, you may not torture the suspects.  The Charter forbids it, my husband forbids it, and I forbid it."

A cryptic look of sympathy crept onto Varys' face.  "My Queen, I would never accuse you of being a tyrant.  A realist is a better term, unlike your idealistic and somewhat naive husband," he replied calmly.  "I think that you will do what it takes to protect your family and your people."

"They tried to kill Jon," Daenerys whispered angrily as she wrapped her robe around her.

"And they will continue trying to kill you and your family.  Littlefinger wants you all dead," he reminded her firmly.  "Remember what happened to Princess Elia and her children, what nearly happened to you as a child.  You are wise enough to know that that is the fate that befalls your family if you don't act realistically."

Daenerys nodded sadly.  She wouldn't lose Jon.  She would protect him and her babies.  "Have your men do what needs to be done, Lord Varys," she ordered, looking to the ground guiltily as she spoke.

"My Queen," Varys bowed slightly.  "There is one more thing you should know about before you return to your work and me to mine - Gendry Waters was the man who saved Jon's life."

"The usurper's natural son?" she asked intensely, her purple eyes darkening at the mention of the son of the man who had ordered her hunted down as a child.  "Is he connected with Petyr Baelish?"

"If he was, I doubt that he would have saved the King's life," the spymaster pointed out.  "I just wanted you to know- for the purpose of full disclosure."

Dany continued to look at the spymaster darkly.  "He is somehow mixed up in all this.  He must be the reason why Jon agreed to the stupid idea to sneak around Flea Bottom," she hissed.  "I should have him arrested for that alone."

"I doubt that Gendry was involved, My Queen.  His Majesty was perfectly capable of coming up with that stupid idea on his own," Varys argued plainly.  "However, dealing with Gendry Waters might be necessary to secure Tarly marriage alliance and protect the stability of your rule."

"Assassination is prohibited in the Charter," Dany reminded Varys curtly.

"I would never propose such a solution, Your Grace," the spymaster replied, slightly taken aback by Queen's observation.  "Money can generally get rid of such problems."  He paused.  "A first-class berth on a ship sailing to Braavos and a decent pouch of gold should be enough to purchase the cooperation of a blacksmith scraping together a meager living in Flea Bottom."

Daenerys nodded at Varys.  His solution to dealing with the usurper's son made good sense.  "Have one of your men make the deal," she ordered him firmly.  And the Queen of Westeros nodded firmly to her spymaster and continued walking to her dressing room, silently plotting to protect Jon and her babies as she strode down the hall.  _With fire and blood if necessary._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said with Gendry, no good deed goes unpunished. I do have what I hope is an interesting twist coming up. Gendry isn't the only character in this universe who has pined for a woman above his station...


	29. Gilly II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilly faces old prejudices in the Court and receives a surprising request.

Little Sam and Jeyne giggled and ran around the rosebushes in the Royal Gardens.  "Where are you, Ned!" Sammy called out.  "You cannot hide from me!"

"No, you can't!" Jeyne echoed happily toddling after her brother.

Gilly looked at her two children.  "Hush," she scolded them gently.  "You promised me that you would be on your best behavior."

"I am sorry, Mama," Sammy said quietly.  "I promise I will behave now."

Gilly nodded, a small smile creeping onto her face.  She knew that Sammy would try to keep his promise but would ultimately end up disobeying her.   _I should be stricter with him_ , she thought.  But Sammy was her precious firstborn, the baby who she had saved from monsters, she could never be strict with him.  She wiped a streak of mud off Sam's face with a handkerchief.  "Now go play," she told both children gently, "but don't be so loud."

Sammy nodded to her and ran off to find his friend closely followed by Jeyne.

"Where is the Crown Prince?"  a frantic voice called out.

Gilly turned around to see Ned's nurse, Cecily, rushing toward her.  "The children are playing," she explained.

"We are playing hide and seek.  Ned is hiding," Sammy explained.

"Hiding!" Jeyne chimed in.

Cecily paled and began frantically looking for her young charge.  "Your Royal Highness, come out now!" she insisted.  The frantic nanny looked at Gilly.  "I told you not to let the Crown Prince out of your sight.  His Royal Highness can be harmed even in the Red Keep!" she snapped and continued searching frantically for Ned.

"They are children.  They need room to play," Gilly insisted.

"His Royal Highness is not simply a child!  He is the future king!" Cecily growled.

"I win!" a toddler's voice yelled from a nearby patch of bushes.  The future King of Westeros tumbled out from behind a lilac bush, his clothes covered with mud and his mop of curly black hair full of leaves.  The three-year-old giggled and toddled over to Jeyne and Sammy.

"Prince Eddard Targaryen, please come here," Cecily ordered firmly.  "You had me worried!"

Ned's face fell.  "Sorry, Cecily," he replied solemnly and walked toward his nanny.

Cecily looked at her charge sternly. "You are filthy, Your Highness," she scolded him.  "We will have to clean you up before your lessons."  The nursemaid glared at the Tarly children as if she blamed them for Ned's disheveled appearance.  Gilly knew that Cecily had been opposed to Ned playing with Sammy and Jeyne and only allowed it reluctantly after the King had ordered her to do so.

"I don't want lessons!" Ned pouted.  "I want to play with Sammy!"  He began to cry loudly at the prospect of being separated from his new friend.

"We don't always get to do what we want, Your Highness," Cecily reminded the prince firmly.  "You must learn to do your duty just like your papa and mama do theirs."

Ned nodded slightly at his nanny's admonishment and reluctantly waved goodbye to his friends.

Gilly smiled encouragingly at the young prince and then turned back to her own children.  "You both are in as much a need of a bath as Ned and I have work to complete," she told them firmly, gesturing for them to follow her back to the Red Keep.

"I don't want to go back inside," Sammy insisted.  "I don't like the palace.  Everyone is mean and sour like Grandpa Tarly and they look at us funny and whisper when we are around."  Sammy's face fell and his eyebrows creased as he looked at the looming structure of the Red Keep.  His excited anticipation at seeing the palace and meeting the King had melted into disappointment as her husband had warned Gilly it would.

Gilly bent down and squeezed Sammy's left arm.  "The King was so nice to you, Sammy," she reminded her son gently, "and you get to play with Ned."

"But everyone else hates us," Sammy pointed out firmly.  "Why are they so mean to you, Mama?  Why do they call you a wildling?"  Quiet tears began rolling down his face.

Gilly nodded.  "Sometimes people hate those who are different than they are, who they don't understand," she explained gently.  "Differences scare people and they cover their fear up by saying mean things."

"I am going to yell at them and make them stop saying mean things just because they are scared," her son insisted confidently.

Gilly wiped her son's muddy and tear-streaked face with a handkerchief.  "It isn't that simple, Sammy," she sighed.  "Grown-up things never are."  She smiled sadly at her skeptical son.  "The best we can do is try to have compassion for those who say mean things about us and to conduct ourselves with grace and dignity."

"That is not fair!" her son pointed out, suppressing a sniffle.

"Nothing in life is fair, Sammy," Gilly replied gently giving him a big bear hug.  "You will find this out soon enough."  She picked up Jeyne and shifted her on her left hip and held out her right hand for Sammy to grasp.  "Now let's practice ignoring the people who wish us ill while we walk to our rooms."

Sammy nodded and walked through the hallways of the Red Keep grasping her hand and remaining on his best behavior.

As soon as they got to their apartments, Sammy's good behavior ended.  He wriggled free of her arm and ran into the rooms.  "Papa," he called out, forgetting his recent distress.  "We played hide and seek in the gardens with Ned!"

Jeyne wriggled out of Gilly's arms as well and ran after Sammy.  "Ned won!" she reminded her brother.

Gilly sighed and walked after them.  "Be careful!" she reminded her children.  The apartment was too ornate for her tastes and she constantly worried that the children would break something.   _This is not a place suited for young children_ , she thought.  She felt sorry for Ned and his baby sister, Rhaella.  No wonder Jon was so desperate to give his son a normal childhood.  She would feel the same way if Sammy and Jeyne had to grow up in such a formal and toxic environment.

Sam smiled as they entered the rather large sitting room.  Scrolls and books were strewn all around him.  He rose and wrapped his children in his arms.  "I see that you are both dirty," he commented lightly.

Both the kids giggled and Jeyne smeared her father's face with dirt.

"And now, I am dirty as well," Sam observed.

Gilly pursed her lips and eyed the messy sitting room. "What are you doing, Sam?" she asked as she picked up one of the scrolls.

"I am researching dragons," he told her placing Jeyne on the ground, "specifically how to kill dragons."

Gilly sighed.  "Why don't you just explain your concerns to Jon?" she asked exasperatedly.

"I tried that, Gilly," Sam reminded her.  "Jon was not interested in what I had to say."

"A short conversation in the middle of a heated argument with your father," Gilly pointed out.  "Have you spoken to him since?"

"No," Sam stated, "And I have no desire to."  He stared at her exasperatedly.  "I told you that the Court was a cesspool and Jon had no interest in some lowly Citadel acolyte."

Gilly frowned.  It was quite clear to her that the King was concerned about his old friend's happiness.  The ornate apartments overlooking the garden and their children's playtime with the Crown Prince suggested as much.  Why Sam was so uncomfortable with Jon continued to mystify her.  A friend like Jon was worth having regardless of his position.  "You are just going to try to figure things out without informing the King," she stated skeptically.

"Aye," Sam replied.  "I know that you disapprove, but it is best that we steer as clear of the corruption of the Court as we can.  That includes steering clear of Jon."  He frowned slightly and searched through his papers for something specific.  "Speaking of the Court, this came for you when you were in the gardens with the children."  He nudged a parchment with delicate script toward her.  "It is from Lady Sansa," he said offhandedly. 

Gilly skimmed the invitation.  "This is a formal invitation to an evening salon hosted by the Princess-Regent," she observed.

"Which you should respectfully decline," her husband counseled.  He went back to reading one of the parchments on the top of his pile.

"It would be considered an insult to decline a personal invitation from the King's sister," Gilly replied firmly.

"Do you really want to spend the evening with the judgmental ladies of the Court?" Sam asked her.

"No, not particularly," Gilly stated.  "I know that some - most - dislike me, but perhaps a few would be willing to commission dresses from my shop, especially after seeing the Queen's gown at the ball closing the Council."

"Suit yourself," Sam replied with a shrug and went back to his parchments.

"I will," said Gilly plainly and hurried off to prepare for what in all likelihood would be an uncomfortable evening with Princess Sansa and the high ranking women of the Court.

* * *

When she entered one of the ornate drawing rooms in the Royal Family's vast apartments, Gilly found that the soiree had already begun.  High-ranking ladies sashayed around the room in summer silks with gems of all types glistening in the candlelight as a bard sang ballads in the background and serving girls filled wine glasses.  The Princess-Regent sat in the center of the room in a light blue dress with winter roses woven into her intricate braids and a diamond necklace glistening on her neck.  The entire glamorous scene made Gilly feel uncomfortable.   _Sam was right about declining the invitation_ , the dressmaker thought as she tried to hide in the shadows in the back of the room.   _Perhaps I can slip out without anyone noticing me_.

Sansa noticed Gilly's presence and rose, motioning for her to come forward.  "Lady Gilly, I am quite pleased that you could come to our salon.  Would come to the front of the room and sit by me?" the King's sister smiled delicately.

Gilly blushed slightly and walked to the front of the room.  She noticed quite a few snickers from the ladies at her simple green gown as she walked to the front of the room.  "You honor me, Your Royal Highness," she stated, curtsying slightly before she sat in a plush chair next to Lady Sansa.

"This is not an honor, Lady Gilly," Sansa whispered.  "It is a circus."   She smiled graciously at the ladies, keeping up appearances.

Gilly nodded silently and tried to model Sansa's demeanor.

Sansa bent over and whispered.  "Just continue smiling, Lady Gilly," she said encouragingly.  "These courtiers gossip about everyone, even the Royal Family.  In fact they especially disdain us.  They only pretend to fawn over me because of my brother's power."  The Princess-Regent smiled sweetly at all the scheming courtiers.  "And of course, I know all the scandalous details about their lives as well."  She nodded toward a middle-aged woman with brown hair near the front of the room.  "Lady Spicer whores her daughters and even herself out to any man who will provide her with social advancement.  Her latest project is to put her younger daughter, Elena, into Lord Tyrion's bed."  Sansa nudged Gilly to the left.  "And by the window, that is Alla Tyrell.  Her husband, Sewell Tyrell, expects to inherit Highgarden when Lady Olenna dies.  Pity for him that Lady Olenna detests him and plans to bequeath it to his brother instead."

Gilly shifted slightly and her face turning slightly red.

Sansa, noticing Gilly's discomfort at the conversation, motioned for a serving girl to bring over two glasses of wine.  She handed a glass to Gilly.  "I am sorry for my gossipy babbling," she apologized.  "It is how I cope with the intrigue and backstabbing of the Court."

"That is fine, Your Highness," Gilly replied.  She looked at the Princess Regent perplexed.  "However, I am wondering why you invited me here.  Surely, it isn't just to gossip about the Court."

Sansa sighed and took a small sip of wine.  "You must have heard about some of the recent excitement concerning my sister and your good brother," she observed plainly.

"Everyone has heard about that incident," Gilly stated wryly.

The Princess Regent pursed her lips in a small frown.  "Arya is a free spirit who refuses to do as she is told," she observed disapprovingly, "and Jon spoils her."  She took another small sip of wine and scanned her eyes around the room.  "I tried to find a compromise with Lord Tarly but he insists on a Royal Marriage as the price of his continued fealty."

"I have heard as much from the Queen," Gilly replied.  She continued to look at the Princess Regent perplexed.  "Why are you speaking to me about this?"

"I think that I may have found a compromise that may satisfy your good father and the King and Queen," Sansa replied.

"Your Highness?" Gilly asked.

"My understanding is that my nephew has become close to your children over the past few days," the Princess observed.  "Perhaps a marriage between your daughter and my nephew would satisfy Randyll Tarly's greed.  The man could hardly object to his granddaughter becoming queen."

Gilly frowned slightly, but she remained silent and looked down at her wine glass rather than objecting.  It appeared that her family would be pushed into the intrigue of the Court regardless of Sam's desire to protect them from it.


	30. Petyr V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr deals with snags in his plan and a new opportunity arises

Petyr Baelish wanted Aegon Targaryen dead.  The young man's constant whining had made Petyr nauseous to the point he wouldn't mind Aegon having an unfortunate accident.  Perhaps he could seize the Throne without the Targaryen brat.

Of course, this was all just his anger talking.  In reality, Petyr knew that discarding Aegon would be difficult.  He needed Aegon as a pawn for his plot to have any chance at succeeding.  And even with a pawn, his plots were faltering.  The Sand Snakes were currently being detained in the Red Keep for their own "safety" and the City Guard kept him busy every day inspecting pointless projects.   _How does someone as daft as Jaeherys Targaryen keep winning_? he griped as he angrily paced around the front parlor of his rented manse.

"Having a bad day, My Lord?" a smooth voice observed.  "I'm sure that dealing with the finer points of finance can be quite stressful."  Petyr stopped pacing and glared silently as Varys entered the front parlor and sat down on a settee near the center of the room.  "I wouldn't want to work for the Iron Bank."

"How did you get in?" Petyr snapped as he continued to stare angrily at his nemesis.  "I didn't give you permission to enter my house!"

"Petyr, my dear man, you know full well that I don't need permission for such things," the spymaster observed coolly. 

Petyr grumbled at Varys' comments.  He remained standing and glared at Varys.  "Why are you here?" he snapped.

"I was in the area on official Crown business and thought that I would pay a visit to an old friend," Varys replied coolly.  "We haven't had a chance to catch up since your return to King's Landing."

"Cleaning up the mess your precious king made in Flea Bottom I presume," Petyr sneered.   _That stupid idiot was sulking around Flea Bottom without guards and barely managed to escape with only a few scratches.  How am I losing to this man again?_ he added silently.

Varys' lips quirked up into a small smile.  "You are wondering why you cannot outsmart a man who stupidly went into the middle of a slum where many people despise him without guards," he observed knowingly.

"You read minds now as well," Petyr spat out.  He stopped pacing, sat down on a plush chair facing his nemesis, and glared at him intently.

"You give away more tells than you care to admit," the spymaster stated.  He shifted in his chair.  "The ruffians who were picked up for assaulting the King have been telling interesting tales about your Targaryen pawn's true identity.  They've all but confirmed what I've long suspected - that your Aegon is a fraud."

Petyr leaned forward and stared at Varys intently.  "Perhaps he is just that, My Lord," he replied calmly, "but it doesn't matter what the truth is.  It only matters what people believe that truth is.  You know that.  You transformed a boy dismissed as Ned Stark's bastard into a Targaryen king."

"Aye, perception matters more than reality, my dear friend," the spymaster admitted plainly.  "However, people see your pawn as a joke, not a king.  You have no allies either among the commoners or in the Court."

"Dorne is with us," Petyr snapped.  "Lady Ellaria proclaimed that to the Court."

"Lady Ellaria, after a week of being confined to her quarters in the Red Keep and some gentle persuasion, has come to her senses," Varys observed triumphantly.  "She and her daughters are currently kneeling before Their Majesties and reaffirming their loyalty to the Crown."

Petyr glared at Varys.  "The Dornish are the most fickle allies," he observed angrily.

"Nobles tend to kneel to those with the most strength.  They are sheep who are most concerned with what personally benefits them," the spymaster pointed out.  "And right now the Crown holds all the cards.  They may grumble about the King and Queen, mock them behind their backs, and formulate little plots against them, but they know that it is stupid to openly move against the Crown."  He paused, the cryptic smile on his face growing slightly wider.  "Most people value their heads and their lands more than any grudges they hold against their rulers."

Petyr got up and stormed to the window.  He stared out the window silently.  It appeared that he really was cornered.  "So you are here to gloat!" he snapped.

"No, I am here to warn you, Lord Baelish, for old times sake," Varys replied coolly.  "Give up your preposterous designs on the Throne and Sansa Stark.  Finish your work for the Iron Bank and return to Braavos with your pawn at the end of the month.  Enjoy your lavish exile abroad working with the Iron Bank to screw over the people of Essos or whatever else you do for them.  But stay away from Westeros."  He leaned slightly forward in his seat and stared menacingly at Petyr.  "This is the only warning you will receive Petyr.  If you persist in this stupidity, you will face the Crown's wrath.  Daenerys Targaryen can be quite a brutal tyrant when she chooses and her husband, I fear, has the capacity to be even more tyrannical.  You dismiss Jaeherys Targaryen as a naive and overly compassionate simpleton, but each man has a breaking point.  I'd hate to be the first one to experience the full force of His Majesty's wrath."

Petyr walked over to Varys and grabbed him by the collar.  "You've had your fun, my dear friend," he growled, "but I grow tired of your threats and your gloating."  He shoved Varys back onto the settee and walked over to the window.  "Leave my house at once," he ordered sharply.

"I will see myself out," Varys stated calmly as he rose from his seat and walked toward the door.  "Enjoy the rest of your time in King's Landing inspecting the Iron Bank's investments, Lord Baelish.  Dealing with the intricacies of high finance must be so fulfilling to you," the spymaster observed sarcastically before slamming the door and leaving Petyr along with his thoughts.

Petyr glared as his nemesis left and silently cursed his bad fortune.   _How in the seven hells does Jaeherys Targaryen keep thwarting him?_ he ranted silently.   _How does that stupid simpleton and his damn desire for justice and mercy keep winning?_ He stalked out of the room and out toward the street.  He needed time to clear his mind.

"Why was the Crown's spymaster here?" Aegon asked petulantly as he walked down the staircase from the small second floor.  His purple eyes darkened.  "If he was here to bend a knee, then I should have been informed of his presence."

"He wasn't here to bend a knee, Your Grace.  He was here to gloat," Petyr snapped.  "Dorne has abandoned us.  Lady Ellaria is currently kneeling before the Court and reaffirming her fealty to the Crown."

"Both Lord Varys and Lady Ellaria are traitors to the true King and I will deal with their treasons harshly when I am crowned," Aegon snapped.

Petyr looked at the stupid Targaryen brat exasperatedly.  "Will you shut up about being king!!" he roared.  "We will be lucky to get out of King's Landing with our heads!"

"How dare you tell me to shut up, Lord Baelish!" Aegon whined loudly.  "You will remember your place as my servant!  I am king, not you."

Petyr rolled his eyes and silently walked out the door leaving his stupid pawn to curse and whine to himself.  He turned away from the small manse and toward the harbor, walking along the harbor as fishermen hauled in their afternoon catches and sailors unloaded merchant ships.  It stank of putrid fish and raw sewage, but Petyr found the crowded and dirty atmosphere good for clearing his head.  At least he did not have to listen to another minute of Aegon's cloying whining.

As he walked, he heard two men arguing.  "It is quite a large sum of money, Gendry," a bulging blacksmith argued.  "You should take it.  Leave for Braavos and be rid of this horrid cesspool."

 _Gendry?_ Petyr perked up when he heard that name.   _Didn't King Robert have a bastard by that name?_ he asked himself.  Petyr subtly moved closer to the pair in order to listen in on their conversation.

The other man who looked quite like a young Robert Baratheon glared at his friend.  "The Crown wants to be rid of me to protect its power.  I don't see how that is different from the Lannisters trying to kill me."

The other blacksmith looked at Gendry skeptically.  "A heavy bag of gold is the difference," he pointed out.

"And if I fail to accept the bribe, they will still put a price on my head, Gregory" Gendry spat out.

"Suit yourself, Gendry," Gregory stated.  "But I would take the gold rather than losing my head over some princess."

"Arya Stark is not some princess," Gendry replied pointedly as his friend walked away from him.

Petyr smirked, thanking his sudden turn of fortune.  He walked up slowly to the blacksmith.  "Excuse me, sir.  I could not help but overhear parts of your conversation.  Is your name Gendry?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes," snapped the blacksmith moving away from him.  "If you are another one of that eunuch's informants, the answer remains no.  Why should I have to leave my home just because the Queen is upset by my presence?"

"Oh, I am not one of Lord Varys' spies and I agree you should not have to leave your home," Petyr stated, trying to calm the young man's fears.  "I knew your father back in the day.  I was his Master of Coin."

"My father was a cunt," Gendry growled.  "I am glad that he died in the most humiliating manner possible, speared by a boar's tusk."

Petyr smiled knowingly.  "Robert Baratheon was definitely a cunt.  Most nobles are.  I've suffered for decades at their hands."  He leaned in closer to Gendry.  "Forgive me for eavesdropping on your conversation but it seems that you are having woman problems.  Arya Stark is quite a wild beauty."

"And a princess," Gendry observed pointedly, "a woman above my station as everyone constantly reminds me."

Petyr smiled sympathetically and placed a hand on Gendry's shoulder.  "I once loved a woman who everyone said was way above my station.  I only received scars for my trouble; at least they gave you a bag of gold for yours."

"I do not want gold," Gendry snapped.  "I want Arya."

"Perhaps, I can help with that," Petyr replied.

"You want me to follow you into treason," the blacksmith replied angrily.  "I value my head more than that."

"And your head is forfeit if you do not take Her Majesty up on her gracious offer to leave for Braavos," Petyr pointed out calmly.

"Aye, my friend was just trying to convince me of that," Gendry replied tartly, his arms crossed over his chest.  "Are you arguing that you can get me what I want?"

"I can get you revenge and perhaps a fair chance at love," Petyr affirmed confidently.

The blacksmith sighed.  "Fine, I will listen to what you have to say," he stated and moved closer to Petyr.

Petyr smirked triumphantly and began whispering sugary tales to Robert Baratheon's bastard son.


	31. Tyrion IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion learns about plots against him.

Tyrion Lannister crept in the shadows in the back of the Great Hall and watched as the Sand Snakes knelt before the twin thrones and recited renewed vows of fealty as Jon and Daenerys looked on stoically.  The Crown's Hand was quite pleased with himself.  It had only taken a week of confinement to their comfortable quarters and some subtle threats to convince that odious woman and her equally obnoxious daughters that was unwise to continue their alliance with Littlefinger and his puppet.  The whole scenario rather amused him - they had put up less resistance than prostitutes desperate for coin.  Of course, Tyrion knew he shouldn't be complacent.  Littlefinger was still a dangerous threat who needed to be dealt with.

"Basking in your success, My Lord?" Varys stated quietly as the two watched the King motioned for Lady Ellaria to rise and ended the audience.

"It is one of the rare victories the Crown has had as of late," Tyrion observed disapprovingly as he watched Jon limp off with the support of a cane and his guards.  "Did you clean up the incident?" he asked his friend as he continued to stare at his injured king.

"As best I could," Varys replied.  "But I doubt that smugglers and petty criminals will be willing to keep their mouths shut about meeting the King in such an interesting manner even with my bribes and threats.  It will always be whispered about in Flea Bottom."

Tyrion groaned at the spymaster's response.  Of all the stupid things for Jon to do...

Varys smiled slightly, reading Tyrion's foul mood.  "Look at the bright side," he stated calmly.  "The King's popularity may actually increase in Flea Bottom due to this ill-advised escapade."

"Jon was nearly killed in a tavern fight," the Hand reminded Varys.  "Is it possible to increase the King's bodyguard in such a way that they can prevent another incognito walkabout?" he mumbled to himself.

"Some would consider that to be imprisoning your sworn sovereign," the spymaster pointed out calmly.

"Aye," Tyrion grumbled as he walked to the door.  "I know that I cannot force Jon to do what I command."  He paused in the large atrium outside the Great Hall.  "Why won't kings listen to their advisors!!" he grumbled to himself in a voice loud enough for Varys to hear.

Varys stared back at him with an enigmatic grin, allowing Tyrion space to vent.

Tyrion nodded at Varys' silence.  "I know it is because they are kings and no one can stop them," he acknowledged tartly.  "I should be grateful that Jon is not a sadistic tyrant.  After Aerys Targaryen and Joffrey Baratheon and my dear sister, the citizens of Westeros should thank the gods daily that our current sovereign's greatest transgression is going on an incognito outing in Flea Bottom without his guards."

"Indeed we should be grateful for that," Varys replied.  "But the King did risk his life and almost plunge this country back into chaos and warfare for no particular reason - because he was bored and frustrated with ruling I suppose."  The spymaster stared at Tyrion seriously.  "I fear that if things don't change soon Jon may end up doing even worse."

"Luckily for us, the King is too naive and noble to become a tyrant," Tyrion observed as he walked toward the gardens followed by Varys.

"That is a quite optimistic statement for a cynic," the spymaster replied.

Tyrion frowned slightly.  "You really think that Jaeherys Targaryen of all people will turn into his grandfather?" he asked his friend skeptically.

"No," Varys stated.  "But every man has his breaking point.  Even those with the purest intentions can temporarily become tyrants.  I shudder to think how Jon would react if someone harmed his family."

"Then we shall have to thwart Littlefinger's plots before it comes to that," Tyrion nodded slowly.  "What intelligence did the prisoners provide you about Petyr Baelish's motives?" he asked quietly.

"The smugglers that Lady Arya overheard suspect that Aegon Targaryen was a sellsword who went by the name of Griff in Braavos.  He was somehow connected to my old colleague Illyrio," the spymaster replied.

"And they are working with Littlefinger," Tyrion added.

"No," Varys contradicted the Hand.  "It appears their motive was robbery."

"I doubt it," Tyrion replied curtly.  "Have your men work over the suspects again."

"That would be quite difficult as they have all been released," the spymaster admitted quietly.

The Hand abruptly stopped walking and turned sharply toward Varys.  "How?" he asked angrily.  "At the very least, they are guilty of assaulting the King."

Varys looked guiltily at his friend.  "I couldn't stop it, My Lord," he sighed.  "It was by Royal Pardon."

Tyrion glared at his friend, his face turning an angry beet red.  "Of all the idiotic..." he began before remembering how unwise it was to curse his sworn king in the gardens of the Red Keep.  Tyrion took several deep breaths to calm himself.  "And you believe Jon is capable of becoming a tyrant," he added sarcastically before taking another few deep breaths to assuage his anger.

Varys stared at him critically but didn't comment on his outburst.  "I ordered some of my little birds to keep a close watch on the suspects," the spymaster stated calmly.

"It isn't that I don't trust your spies, Varys," the Hand replied delicately, "but it still seems unwise to let them go."  Tyrion frowned.  "I'm surprised that the Queen permitted such a pardon."

"The Queen doesn't know and Jon ordered me not to tell her," Varys replied.  "Jon found out that I was using some harsh interrogation techniques against the suspects and angrily ordered me to release them in response."

"You shouldn't have done anything that even appeared to be forbidden by the Charter.  You know how much that angers him and how rashly he sometimes react when he's angry," Tyrion grumbled.  "Now we are without the only witnesses who might be able to confirm our suspicions about Littlefinger's pawn."

"Without using such methods, I wouldn't have even gotten the vague confirmation I did," Varys stated calmly.  He eyed his disapproving friend.  "I received the Queen's approval before I did anything.  I knew Daenerys would reluctantly give me her blessing because of her protectiveness toward her husband."

Tyrion paused and rubbed his forehead.  The last thing he needed was to deal with the fallout from a fight between Jon and Daenerys when the numerous secrets they were hiding from each other were inevitably discovered.

Varys pursed his lips and nodded cryptically.  "I know what you are thinking, My Lord.  There are so many secrets and lies and dangerous games swirling around the Red Keep, causing disunity in the Court, and threatening even peace and harmony within the Royal Family itself."  He placed his left hand delicately on Tyrion's shoulder and motioned for him to follow the spymaster to a hidden alcove.  "I fear that the King and Queen aren't the only ones who have been keeping secrets, My Lords.  I must confess that I've been keeping a secret from you.  I wasn't sure how you would react to this news and didn't want to add additional complications to an already tenuous situation," Varys stated delicately.  "However, I cannot snidely remark about secrets and games while keeping such vital information from you."

"What is wrong, my friend?" Tyrion asked solemnly confused by Varys' sudden enigmatic gestures and words.

"There have been many loud murmurs among the Royal family's personal servants, especially the Queen's ladies, that Arya Stark demanded a specific concession in return for her agreeing to the arrangement with Dickon Tarly.  She demanded to be appointed Hand and the King and Queen agreed to her price," the spymaster replied softly, steadying himself for what he knew was Tyrion's angry reaction.  "From the intelligence that I've gathered, it appears this rumor is true.  Their Graces plan on announcing Arya's appointment after they return from Winterfell."  Varys squeezed Tyrion's shoulder.  "I'm sorry for not telling you sooner, Tyrion, but I feared it would add more fuel to an already volatile situation."

Tyrion glared at Varys stunned by his words.  His face turned beet red again and his normal circumspect demeanor gave way to a string of angry curses against his sworn sovereigns.  "I've given everything in the services of Their Graces.  I'm the reason they are seated on those damn thrones.  I've kept the peace for three years and managed the Court shrewdly.  I wrote their damn Charter and set up their damn Crown Council," he swore.  "And this is the thanks I get in return for my steadfast service."  The Crown's Hand nodded curtly to the spymaster and stormed away from the gardens and back to the Red Keep.  Tyrion knew that his actions would cause a stir among the courtiers, but he didn't care.  He had sacrificed so much to sit at the pinnacle of power in Westeros and he wasn't about to cede his position to anyone, especially not the King's wild sister.


	32. Jon VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon attempts to mend fences with his most loyal Northern vassal.

His left leg throbbed with pain when he walked.   _It serves me right_ , Jon grumbled to himself.   _A badly sprained ankle is a fitting punishment for my misadventure._ Even though he realized he deserved it, the sore ankle did little to improve Jon's sour mood.  He grumpily limped through the hallway of the Red Keep toward the Royal Apartments, leaning on a cane to steady his balance.

"Your Grace, may I have a word," Lyanna Mormont asked with a quick bow.

Jon smiled at his young bannerwoman.  "Always a pleasure, Lady Mormont," he said.  "You have sprouted like a beanstalk since I saw you last."  Being in the presence of his most loyal vassal from the North lightened his mood considerably.

Lyanna frowned at Jon slightly annoyed by his attempt at humor.  "I have little time for pleasantries, Your Majesty," she replied plainly.  "I have urgent business to discuss with you about the North."

Jon smiled and suppressed a laugh at the young woman's abruptness.  "Come into my study and we can discuss such matters," he motioned Lyanna toward the Royal Apartments.  "It would be easier to keep our conversation secret."  He shifted slightly on his cane and leaned toward the young woman.  "And I should not stand for so long on my sore ankle," he whispered lightly.

Lyanna nodded silently and looked at his heavily bandaged ankle disapprovingly.  "I heard that you received your injury from sparring although there are loud whispers in the Court that suggest the truth is more complicated."

"Sparring can be quite complicated, My Lady," Jon lied and motioned for Lyanna to follow him through an ornate door manned by two guards in Targaryen colors.

The Lady of Bear Island continued to frown while staring at the guards.  "I thought that the Stark colors had been incorporated into the official Royal Seal," she observed as she followed Jon through the doors.

"The White Wolf is displayed prominently on the seal, Lady Mormont," he reminded her as he directed her to his study on the left.

"The seal includes your White Wolf, My King, but the rest of the Red Keep is decorated with dragons and the Targaryen colors," Lyanna reminded him tartly.

 _Aye_ , Jon thought bitterly.   _I am reminded of my birth father constantly in this cesspool, confronted about who I am supposed to be._ He smiled neutrally at Lyanna. "The Queen prefers it," he stated hesitatingly.

Lyanna nodded and sat down on a chair after Jon motioned for her to sit.  "Why would a proper Northern Queen choose to emphasize her Targaryen heritage so?" she inquired.

"Daenerys will never be a proper Northern Queen, My Lady," Jon replied after maneuvering into a chair himself, careful to keep pressure off his left ankle.   "I thought the Lords of the North understood that when I married her."

"I was skeptical of the marriage when it was announced, Your Grace," Lyanna admitted, "and nothing that has happened since has disproven that initial reaction."

The King looked at Lyanna Mormont irritated by her disdain toward Dany.  He was tired of defending his wife from the North's constant criticism.  "My Lady, it is only with Queen Daenerys Targaryen's help that we defeated the Army of the Dead.  She granted the North its independence.  Our people stand at the pinnacle of power in Westeros."

"Our people stand at the pinnacle of power?" the Lady of Bear Island questioned sternly.  "Our people almost starved last winter; many of their homes are still destroyed.  Northern peasants cannot survive on the power of distant kings.  My King, you preside over a den of thieves where courtiers feast and plot while the Northern subjects whom you solemnly vowed to protect die of starvation and disease."

Jon stared at Lyanna, his king face firmly on.  "Is this what your urgent business was about, My Lady?  Whining about Queen Daenerys and my absence from the North?" he asked exasperatedly.

"No.  I have a proposal for you, My King, one which I believe will appease your lords," the young woman stated.  "Don't return to King's Landing after Princess Sansa's wedding.  Remain at Winterfell.  Rule Westeros from Winterfell, not from this Southern cesspool."

The King wanted to leap from his seat, embrace Lyanna Mormont in a gigantic bear hug, and praise her proposal.  He wanted more than anything to go home with his family, to allow Ned and Rhae to grow up in a happy and free environment rather than their luxurious prison.  However, that was Jon Snow, Ned Stark's bastard son, talking.  His Grace, Jaeherys Targaryen, the Third of His Name, knew such a fantasy was impossible.  Jon smiled sadly at Lyanna.  "How will I rule the Six Southern Kingdoms of Westeros if I am permanently at Winterfell?" he whispered sadly.

"A regent could be named.  Lord Tyrion perhaps?  Or Princess Sansa?" Lyanna suggested.  She appeared angry at his rejection of her suggestion.  "You were fine with your sister ruling as your regent for three years in the North, My King.  Why do you hesitate to do the same here in King's Landing?"

"The Court won't..." Jon began, his voice trailing off as he realized the snobbery in his statement.

"The Court won't?" Lyanna asked.  "What did you want to say, Your Grace?  That the fine Southern lords will complain about having to come to the rugged North every time they want to petition the King and Queen?  How they will have to live without their Braavosi wine or luxurious accommodations in the Red Keep during Council meetings?"

"Aye, that is what I wanted to say," the King replied truthfully.  "The Southern lords are selfish and materialistic.  They disdain us Northerners even now.  They still consider me a country bumpkin who they tolerate because of my wife's three dragons and my birth father's Targaryen heritage."  He leaned forward in his seat and looked at his young vassal sympathetically.  "As much as I wish to return to the North permanently, I cannot contemplate such a move.  I would lose the support of the Southern lords.  I cannot rule Westeros if I lose the support of the Reach."

Lyanna shrugged her shoulders.  "Then allow the Six Kingdoms to go their own way!" she exclaimed.  "Abdicate the damn Southern throne and return to the North with Daenerys and your children!  You were our duly elected king prior to all this nonsense!"

"It is not that simple, My Lady.  You know that it is not," Jon replied softly.

"It may be difficult, Your Grace, but not impossible," his bannerwoman insisted.  "We could trade with Essos rather than relying on the Reach.  Our borders would be impenetrable especially with the Queen's dragons."

"Even if what you say is true, Lady Mormont, I cannot just abandon the Six Kingdoms to their fate.  It will lead to chaos or even worse allow an evil man like Littlefinger to take over," Jon explained.  "I swore sacred vows that I would protect all Westeros, and I must keep those vows even if I wish otherwise."

"You must keep vows sworn before gods you do not believe in to protect people who disdain you as a country bumpkin?" Lyanna asked skeptically.  "Perhaps care for the North, for the people who made you their king back when you before you had all your fancy titles and opulent palaces."

"I could do without all the palaces and titles," Jon admitted laughing in spite of himself.  His face then turned serious.  "However, I cannot abandon the Six Kingdoms regardless of my hatred of King's Landing or the names the Lords of the Reach call me.  They are now my people as well."

"As I said, My King, you seem willing to abandon the people who have stood by you steadfastly in the North," Lyanna observed angrily.  "I knelt before you as my king despite your status as a bastard.  I remained loyal to you when it was revealed you were Rhaegar Targaryen's son.  I have steadfastly ruled Bear Island for you during the last three years.  However, there are limits to even my fealty.  I will present my proposal to the Northern lords and if they accept it, I will insist you do as well."

Jon's eyes narrowed to dark slights and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  "I am your king.  You will obey my edicts, not me yours," he ordered.

Lyanna stared at him steadily; she appeared unperturbed by his anger.  "The Northern lords made you our king and we can unmake you king just as easily," she replied firmly.

"What you are suggesting is treason," Jon reminded Lyanna angrily.  "I will overlook such words said in anger, My Lady, but my tolerance has limits.  Remember that I have three dragons."

"You plan to conquer the North and force your will on us with fire and blood?" Lyanna observed.  "You want to demand the North's obedience like a foreign conqueror, like Aegon?"  The Lady of Bear Island shuddered in anger and spat on the ground when she remembered the horrors that the Targaryen conquerors had brought to the North.

Jon looked at the young woman solemnly.  "I would never become such a tyrant, My Lady," he whispered tentatively.  It was a sentiment that even the King himself was unsure of.

"You are already a tyrant, Your Grace, if you force the North to kneel without listening to its concerns," Lyanna reminded him.  The young woman stared the King straight in the eye.  "I am not scared of you.  I will present the lords with my proposal regardless of your threats, My King.  Let us see who the lords back," she stated firmly.

Jon turned away from Lyanna.  He stared out the window and watched as the afternoon shadows danced across the gardens.  The King knew that the Northern lords would enthusiastically back Lyanna's proposal and refuse to listen to his concerns.  Three years ago, it may have been different.  Back then, he was one of them, a Stark, the son of their beloved lord.  But not now- now he was regarded as foreign, as a Targaryen, as the hated enemy that had subjugated the North for centuries.  "Perhaps, it would be best if you were to leave, My Lady," he stated firmly, hoping that Lyanna Mormont would catch the regret in his voice.

The Lady of Bear Island nodded.  Her stern face softened slightly.  "I will leave you to your thoughts, Your Majesty," she stated as she got up and deeply bowed before leaving.  "I know that our king will make the right decision."

Jon watched as Lyanna Mormont left.  He began to rise from his chair but his sore ankle made him think twice about that.  So instead, Jon remained in his chair and looked out the window at the sun setting over the sumptuous gardens of the Red Keep.  To protect Dany, Ned, and Rhae, he perhaps would have to betray the North and rule as a Targaryen tyrant- with fire and blood.  Perhaps the only way forward was to betray the North.  The King of Westeros sunk into his seat and contemplated that reality as tears streamed down his face. 


	33. Arya V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Dickon negotiate the terms of their relationship.

She pounded into the practice dummy again and again.  It was cathartic to be able to hit something with a sword after the shit week that she was having.  Nothing was going the way Arya had planned it - first Gendry and Dickon dueling and then Jon tagging along to Flea Bottom.   _I cannot even sneak around Flea Bottom anymore now that my alias has been blown thanks to Jon_ 's _stupidity_ , she thought angrily as she paused and leaned on her sword.   _Gods, I am likely stuck here in the Red Keep for the time_   _being_.  She picked up her sword and prepared to take more frustration out on the practice dummy.  As she began hitting, she spied a tall clean cut knight walking toward her over the horizon.  _I am in no mood to deal with Dickon Tarly now_ , she groaned as the man she was supposed to be courting stopped in the practice yards.

Dickon smiled and bowed to Arya.  "It is a fine day to be in the practice yards, Your Highness," he observed.  "Do you mind if I join you?  Perhaps we can give each other pointers on our sword technique?"

Arya frowned at the Reach knight and went back to hitting the practice dummy silently.

"Are you going to give me the silent treatment for the rest of our courtship?" Dickon asked.  "I apologized for my poor behavior already!"

"Aye, you did," Arya replied tartly, "but I don't feel like playing the part of a proper court lady right now."

The knight shrugged.  "So don't then," he insisted.  "Be Arya Stark instead."

Arya glared at Dickon.  "I thought that your father wanted to marry you to a proper, docile princess!" she growled, pausing from hitting the practice dummy again.

"That is what my father wants," Dickon admitted.  "However, I am more intrigued by Arya Stark- the real Arya Stark - not whatever mummer's show you were putting on a few days ago."

Arya smiled slightly despite her continued annoyance with the Tarly scion's presence.  "The real Arya Stark is a scandal in the Court.  She fights and drinks and whores like a man and she refuses to play the silly court games," she reminded him.  "Such a rebellious princess isn't a fit consort for the future Lord of Horn Hill."

"Perhaps I prefer a rebellious princess to the vapid court ladies," Dickon replied, moving closer to Arya and softly grabbing her right hand.

Arya wriggled her hand from the knight's grasp and rolled her eyes.  "Who gave you that line to use when trying to woo me?" she asked exasperatedly.  "Your mother?  Or perhaps Talla?"

"My mother and sister are both proper court ladies," Dickon stated.  "They would never suggest such a line.  That was my own attempt at conversation."

"And it is a quite poor one," Arya observed.  She began walking away from the Practice Yards.

Dickon Tarly followed her much to her annoyance.  "Perhaps we could go hunting, Your Highness," he stated continuing to pester her.

"I am sure that I can find something better to do," Arya replied curtly.  She turned to him.  "My limited understanding of how this whole thing works is that you go to my brother and ask him to take me out and we walk together in the gardens or something with me fawning over you like a proper lady."

Dickon frowned.  "I told you I didn't want that mummer's farce!" he stated.

"After the stunt that you pulled, a mummer's farce is all you are going to get," Arya growled.  "Now leave!  I want to be alone!"  She continued to walk away from Dickon quickly.

"Arya, please wait!" Dickon insisted continuing to follow her.  "I said I was sorry.  I want to make it up to you!  Please just let me!  I would just like to get to know the real Arya Stark."

Arya stopped and turned toward the knight.  "I am not going to get rid of you, am I?" she asked curtly.

"No," Dickon stated firmly.

Arya rolled her eyes.  "Then perhaps we can practice archery.  My bow arm is getting a bit rusty," she replied.

"It would be a pleasure to compete against the great archery champion, Arya Stark," Dickon stated with a courtly bow.

Arya rolled her eyes at Dixon's flowery words.  "And no sugary wooing," she warned.

Dickon nodded and followed her to back toward the practice yards.

Arya glanced at the Dickon once they reached an archery ring.  Her mood lightened slightly as she picked up an arrow and aimed it at a target.  "Now, we shall see how the brave Dickon Tarly compares to a real archer," she taunted as she aimed at the target and released her arrow.  She shot a near bullseye and smiled proudly.

Dickon eyed Arya, picked up his bow, and easily shot a straight bullseye.  He nodded at her politely.

Arya looked at him perplexed.  "How?" she asked.

"You became overconfident, Your Highness," Dickon replied slightly.  "You tend to drop your bow arm when you become overconfident."

Arya glared at Dickon and picked up her bow.  She shot off another bow quickly which landed even farther away from the bullseye.  She cursed loudly at the failed shot.

"You are letting your anger get the better of you, My Lady," the knight observed.  "Perhaps you will let me show you some pointers."  He reached over toward Arya and placed his arm on her left shoulder.  "Like this, My Lady," he said, trying to move her left arm slightly higher.

Arya wriggled out of Dickon's grasp again.  "I am perfectly capable of shooting an arrow, Ser," she snapped.  She knew that she had to deal with Dickon Tarly in order to protect Jon, but, gods, was the entire courtship getting on her nerves.  He was getting on her nerves.   _I should demand a large castle in addition to being appointed Hand_ , she thought grumpily as she glared at the smug knight.   _Perhaps Storm's End._ Arya grabbed her bow, positioned her arrow, and shot a perfect bullseye.  She smirked broadly at her triumph.

Dickon shrugged.  "It only took you three times to shoot a bullseye," he observed unimpressed.  "You really are rusty, Your Highness."

Arya glared at him silently.

"So is good-natured teasing also outlawed, My Princess?" Dickon asked lightly.  He moved toward Arya, placed his arm gently on her left shoulder, and kissed her gently on the forehead.

Arya hesitated slightly but moved away from Dickon.  "I said no wooing," she snapped.  "I can have you punished for taking such liberties!  Don't think that my brother won't side with me, Sir!"

"Do you really want me to, Your Highness?" Dickon whispered seductively.  He moved closer to her again and kissed her lightly on her lips.  Arya paused unsure what to do as an unfamiliar tingle shot through her spine as Dixon's lips pressed against hers.  Her first instinct was to slug Dickon in the face for touching with her in such a forward manner, but even she realized that making such a scene would lead to more scandal than it was worth.  Instead, she allowed him to kiss her firmly and reciprocated in kind, pushing her tongue firmly into Dickon's mouth.  Arya Stark knew that accepting Dickon's forward advances was scandalous; that a proper young lady, let alone the King's sister, should not engage in such actions.  But, of course, Arya Stark was not a proper young lady.

 _If I have to woo Dickon Tarly, perhaps I can have a bit of enjoyment in the process.  It has been nearly a month since I had some fun.. not since what's his face, that minor Tyrell knight_ , she thought as she pushed away from Dickon momentarily.

The knight paused and stroked her face and hair gently.

Arya smiled seductively and moved her hand down his chest.  "I wonder if archery is the only thing you are good at, Ser Dickon," she stated.  She pushed Dickon onto the ground and began kissing him firmly again.   _Yes, this might be quite fun_ , Arya thought as she sucked Dickon's lips greedily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay a few things..
> 
> 1\. Please do not think that Arya and Dickon are going to ride off into the sunset and happily marry and have babies. I will stress again that this whole situation does not end happily for any of the parties involved.
> 
> 2\. I will stress again that Arya is screwed up. She has mental issues from the war and is engaged in self-destructive behavior. Jon is not helping by enabling Arya's worst behavior.


	34. Tyrion V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion confronts Daenerys about the deal she made with Arya

Tyrion shuffled papers on his desk.  He wasn't sure he particularly cared about the Crown Council anymore.  All his work, all his efforts were unappreciated by the King and Queen.   _Daenerys would still be in Meereen futilely trying to put down an insurgency if not for me_ , he thought angrily.   _I am the reason that she is Queen of Westeros.  I am the one who convinced her to accept the damn marriage alliance with Jon.  I am the one who devised the strategy to defeat my sister.  I am the one who wrote the Great Charter and who shepherded the Crown Council to a successful start.  I am the one who keeps her and her husband and children alive._ He dropped his papers on the desk.   _I do all this for her and she nonetheless betrays me.  She is giving my job, my power to that spoiled little brat._

As he contemplated his discarded pile of papers, there was a loud knock on the door.  "My Lord Hand, the Queen is here to see you," the soldier standing guard outside stated.

Tyrion grumbled.  Daenerys Targaryen was the last person he wanted to see right now.  However, he could hardly refuse an audience with his sworn queen even if she was dead set on betraying him.  It would be highly imprudent.  "Let her in," he ordered calmly, trying to hide his anger as best he could.  He then went back to aimlessly shifting the papers on his desk hoping that repetitive motions would calm his angry energy.

Daenerys walked in hurriedly.  "Why weren't you at the afternoon Council session?" she asked as she waved for him to remain in his chair and sat across the desk from him.

"Affairs of state keep me busy, Your Grace," Tyrion insisted.  "There is the Crown Bank to set up, I have numerous parchments to review, and Littlefinger is still out there somewhere involved in cooking up nefarious schemes and causing trouble."  He sighed exasperatedly.  "You needed me for something?" he asked, trying to hide his anger toward his her.

"Why did you allow Jon to release the suspects?" Daenerys asked Tyrion, flashes of anger bubbling up from her calm demeanor.  "They almost killed my husband.  I should..."  Her voice trailed off before her anger could get the better of her.

Tyrion leaned over her desk.  "I did not know until after the King gave the order.  If I had learned about Jon's decision prior to his release, I would have tried to dissuade him.  I swear that I would have, Your Majesty," he told her truthfully.

"He went behind my back.  He hid this from me after he swore he wouldn't lie to me again," Daenerys snapped.  She glared at Tyrion her eyes narrowing.  "And you knew about this as well!"

"Only for a few days, Your Grace," Tyrion stated.

"You still knew about this and you lied to me!" the Queen snapped.  "You broke my trust!"

Tyrion's fury boiled over.  He turned his back to Daenerys, despite knowing it was against protocol, walked to his side table, poured himself a large glass of wine, and drained it in one long swig.  "It seems like lying is quite en vogue among members of the Inner Court," he observed sarcastically as he slammed the wine tumbler on the table with a loud thud.

"What do you mean?" Daenerys asked, her anger morphing into confusion.

Tyrion poured himself another glass of wine and walked back toward his desk.  "I was speaking of your agreement with Arya Stark, Your Grace," he replied.  "You didn't think I would find out about that."  He stared at the Queen.  "You are really going to replace me with that spoiled little girl?"

The Queen eyed him guiltily.  "Arya demanded it in return for agreeing to the courtship with Dickon Tarly," she admitted softly.  "I'm sorry Tyrion, but I had to agree.  We need the Reach's continued loyalty."

"You couldn't think of any other way to get that Arya Stark to finally behave beside selling me out," he grumbled taking another large swig of wine.  "Exiling me is the only way you could think to appease that brat?"

Daenerys looked at him sympathetically.  "You aren't being exiled Tyrion.  You still control the Westerlands as Lord Paramount," she pointed out softly.  "It will only be temporary.  Arya is liable to grow bored with the Hand's responsibilities soon enough and you will be reappointed before you know it."  She grabbed his hand gently.  "Think of this as a much needed holiday, not a demotion.  Go back to Casterly Rock, get your affairs in order, and wait patiently for me to request your presence in the capital again."  The Queen smiled at him sweetly.  "Perhaps you can even marry?" she reminded him gently.

"Screw marriage," Tyrion insisted forcefully.  "I have no time for a wife.  I want the position that is owed to me, the position that I earned by winning you your Crown and helping you keep it these past three years."

The Queen's eyes grew darker and more dangerous.  "My family's safety is more important than your power, My Lord," she reminded him icily.  "You are not the monarch, I am, and you will accept my commands or you will face an actual exile."

Before Tyrion could answer Daenerys threats, he heard the door open loudly.  "Your Grace... My King....  Please let me introduce you properly at least," the hapless guard insisted following in after a determined Jon.

Jon grunted at the soldier and continued to walk determinedly into the room despite a noticeable limp.

"My King, what impeccable timing.  We were just speaking of you," Tyrion observed sarcastically raising his glass of wine and taking another long sip.

The King eyed his Hand grumpily.  "I am not in the mood for your sarcasm, Tyrion.  I just spoke to Lyanna Mormont and she plans to demand that we relocate the Court to Winterfell permanently," he stated as he sat in a chair next to his wife's.  "She threatened open rebellion if I refuse to accede to her demands."

"Lyanna Mormont is a fifteen-year-old girl who has sixty men, at most, sworn to her, Jon," Daenerys reminded her husband testily.  "She hardly represents a serious threat to our rule."

"There is serious discontent in the North, Dany" the King pointed out.  "Northerners bore the brunt of the devastation from the Great War, they are still suffering from that devastation, and they feel abandoned by us."

The Queen eyed her husband warily.  "The North has already received special treatment, Jon," she replied plainly, "treatment that has angered the rest of Westeros."

Jon looked at his wife annoyed.  "The North is not part of Westeros, Daenerys.  It is an independent country.  Perhaps its queen would do well to remember the Northern sensitivities surrounding that independence."

"Maybe I would if my husband remembered that he was King of Westeros, not just the North, if he wasn't constantly trying to get himself killed and lying to me about it," Daenerys growled.

"I am just trying to protect our family!" Jon pointed out.

"And I am just trying to protect you!" Daenerys replied angrily.  "I cannot lose you, Jon!"

The King eyed his wife warily.  "There have been whispers around the Court that you wish to make me into your Targaryen pawn, Dany," he observed tentatively.  "Perhaps they are true."

"Jon, I would never treat you as a pawn," the Queen insisted.  She tried to place her hand gently on Jon's cheek which he rebuffed.

Tyrion watched the couple's quarrel and nursed his wine.  Generally, he would intervene to calm any tensions between the two but given that they were removing him from his position, he didn't particularly want to play peacemaker right now.   _I'll let Arya deal with this instead_ , Tyrion thought as he sipped his wine.  He doubted that the spoiled girl could deal with the royal couple, but he would leave the mess to her.   _Or perhaps_...  As he watched the pair bicker, an idea popped into his head - perhaps he could use the tensions between the two to remain in power.  Tyrion knew that he shouldn't do this, especially not with Littlefinger lurking in the background, but he didn't particularly care about that at the present moment.   _Perhaps if the King and Queen cared about the threat posed by Littlefinger, they would have never removed me as Hand_ , he thought.  The Crown's Hand took one last sip of wine and smirked at the bickering royal couple pleased with the move that he was about to make.  "My King, if I may interrupt," Tyrion stated, "the Queen, unfortunately, does want to turn you into her Targaryen pawn.  She told me so herself."

Jon paused and stared at Tyrion confused.  "What do you mean by that, Lord Tyrion?" he asked softly.

Tyrion smiled triumphantly.  "The Queen told me that she is encouraging the trip to Winterfell in order to get you to reject the North.  She wants you to fully embrace your Targaryen identity, to be **her** Targaryen king."

Jon looked at Tyrion and his wife shocked.  "So Arya is right!  The Northern banners are right!  The mocking whispers around the Court are true!  You do want me as your Targaryen pawn!" he yelled angrily.

Daenerys looked at her husband sadly.  "Jon, I don't want you to be my pawn," she whispered, "but I do want you to embrace your true identity.  You are a Dragon, My Love.  Why won't you embrace your true identity?  You have been so depressed, so reckless as of late.  You will feel more settled once you finally come to terms with who you truly are."  She tried to gently stroke the King's cheek only to be rebuffed by him again.

"I will never be a Targaryen, My Queen.  He is  **not** my father.  I may have to use the name Jaeherys Targaryen to rule, but my true name is Jon Snow.  I am the son of Ned Stark and my true home will always be at Winterfell," he reminded his wife angrily.  He got up from chair clutching his cane and glared at Daenerys and Tyrion.  "Lyanna Mormont was right.  I must return home to Winterfell," he stated firmly.  "The Court will move to Winterfell permanently after this session of the Crown Council has ended.  That is the decree of the King."  He turned toward the door and began walking away determinedly despite his sprained left ankle.

The Queen looked at Tyrion desperately.  It appeared that she was devastated by what Tyrion had done and by her husband's reaction to it.  She got up from her seat and walked toward the King's limping figure.  "Please Jon," she sobbed.  "I didn't mean to lie to you like that!  I just want you happy!  Don't you care about your babies and me!"

Jon ignored her desperate pleas and continued walking toward the door.

Tyrion watched the spectacle of the angry Jon and the desperate Daenerys.  He smiled broadly.  His act of petty revenge felt quite good.  _If the Queen wished me to keep her secrets, perhaps she should have never agreed to remove me as Hand_ , Tyrion thought dangerously.  Perhaps Littlefinger was right - chaos was a ladder, a game.  Perhaps the only thing that mattered was power.  Tyrion smirked once more at the bickering royal coupled and picked up his empty wine glass, toying it delicately as he contemplated his next move.


	35. Sansa III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa confront Arya about her recent escapades.

Sansa pounded on the doors to Arya's apartments.  They were locked and her sister's guards weren't stationed outside, but Sansa knew that Arya was inside and intentionally ignoring her.  The loud groans coming from inside her sister's rooms confirmed as much.  "Seven hells, Arya," Sansa yelled.  "I know that you are in there and I know who you are with.  Everyone knows who you are with.  The gossip is all over the Red Keep."  She pounded on the door loudly again, angrily willing for her sister to appear.  Arya was told to do one simple thing and she failed at even that.   _My proposed compromise is for the best_ , she thought as she waited outside the door for her sister to answer.

"Gods, Sansa," Arya grumbled when she finally answered her door in a disheveled linen shift.  "I have a guest!  You don't realize that it is impolite to interrupt when someone has a guest!"  Her sister looked at her crossly.  "And everyone whispers that I am the uncouth one."

An equally disheveled Dickon Tarly slipped next to Arya and placed his left arm around her lower back.  "I will get going, Arya, so you can talk to your sister," he stated gently.  He smiled broadly at Arya and kissed her deeply.  "I will see you tonight?" he asked her expectantly.

"Of course, sweetie," Arya purred, giving him another quick kiss and waving flirtatiously as Dickon exited her rooms.

Sansa watched as the Tarly scion left disapprovingly.  "You were given one simple task by Jon, Arya, and you failed even at that!" the Princess Regent hissed.

Arya walked into the room and took a deep swig from a vial of moon tea on her night table.  "I was told to seduce Dickon Tarly.  I just finished seducing Dickon Tarly," she pointed out plainly.  "I believe I have succeeded in my task."

"Jon asked you to court Dickon and marry him, not to fuck him and then discard him like one of your random flings," Sansa hissed.

Arya sat on her bed cross-legged and shrugged her shoulders.  "The proper way of courting was boring and caused me nothing but headaches so I figured I would try it my way," she pointed out.  "Dickon had quite a good time, so I don't see what your problem is, Sansa."

"The gossip around the Court is the problem!" Sansa yelled.  "This is the last thing Jon needs right now!  You keep saying that you love him and you want to help him but you are constantly undermining his reign with these stupid stunts!"  The Princess Regent glared at her sister.  Arya's actions had consequences to Jon and to their family.  The fact that Arya refused to see those consequences- or even worse knew that her stunts were harming Jon's rule but did not care- angered Sansa immensely.

Arya shrugged casually and got off her bed to pull on her pants.  "I don't care what the gossipy courtiers think.  The only person who matters is Dickon Tarly and, as I already pointed out, he had quite a good time."  Arya glanced at Sansa; her sister appeared bored by her disapproval.  "Stop acting like such a straightlaced prude, Sansa," Arya added as nonchalant aside.

Sansa turned bright red at Arya's comments.  She grabbed her sister's right arm and dug her nails into it.  The sudden gesture caused Arya to wince.  "You think that this is a joke, a game, don't you, Sister?" she snapped.  "It is so fun to be Arya Stark and whore yourself out without a care in the world."

"At least I am having a bit of fun!" Arya growled as she wriggled out of Sansa's grip.  "I'd prefer having fun and drinking and whoring to accepting a boring arranged marriage and hosting evening salons and sewing circles with stuffy Court ladies."

Sansa stared at her sister angrily.  "Do you think that is all I am doing, Arya?" she snapped.  "Being a vapid court lady?"  She walked toward the window and looked out over the gardens.  "I am trying to keep our brother alive and King of Westeros!  I am trying to keep us alive!"  She bit her lip and turned toward Arya.  "Littlefinger is out there, Arya, and I would not underestimate him.  He still wants our family destroyed!"

"I am doing the same!" Arya stated.  "That is why I agreed to court Dickon finally and I insisted that I be appointed Hand in Tyrion's place!"

"You say you are trying to protect Jon, but your actions suggest otherwise.  Getting rid of Tyrion and getting yourself appointed Hand advances your interests, not Jon's," Sansa snapped.  "You don't know the first thing about ruling!  If you did, you would be willing to accept some sacrifices!"

"I do so know how to rule!" Arya replied.  "Jon specifically appointed me his chief advisor after Davos was killed.  He has faith in me to help him rule, not you!"

 _He appointed me Regent of the North, not you_ , Sansa observed to herself.  She wanted to remind Arya of this fact, but she realized that continuing this childish shouting match with her sister would be counterproductive.  She breathed deeply to calm herself down and stared silently at Arya.  "I did not come here to get into a pointless fight with you," she stated calmly.

Arya rolled her eyes.  "It certainly seems like you did," she pointed out.

"I have a proposal that may spare you from having to marry Dickon," Sansa stated plainly.  "I wanted to ask you your opinion of it before I told Jon about it."

"Oh good, another political scheme," Arya groaned.

Sansa ignored her sister's mocking response and continued explaining her compromise.  "Perhaps Sam's daughter, Jeyne, and Ned can marry when they come of age.  Even Randyll Tarly would not oppose his granddaughter becoming queen."

Arya walked toward her dresser, picked up Needle, and began casually wiping down her sword.  "Of course, he would Sansa," she stated matter-of-factly.  "Why would Lord Tarly want the half Wildling daughter of his disinherited older son to become queen?  The man is a disgusting bigot.  He would probably view such a proposal as an insult."

"So what do you propose instead, Sister, as you are now such a keen political mastermind?" Sansa asked sarcastically.

"I am not sure why we need an alternative proposal," Arya replied coolly.  "I will just continue to sleep with Dickon until Jon figures out how to deal with Littlefinger."

"And then discard him like every other one of your affairs," the Princess-Regent snapped.  "How isn't that an insult to House Tarly?"

Arya ignored her last comment and walked to the door, opening it and motioning for Sansa to leave.  "As you seem only interested in lecturing and judging me, I suggest you leave.  My patience is wearing thin," she stated calmly.

"I wanted you to help me with the Tarlys," Sansa observed pointedly as she walked from her sister's apartments, "but you want to act like a child instead.  I will just have to speak with Jon about the situation myself."

Arya rolled her eyes.  "Your proposal is stupid, Sansa," she replied mockingly.  "Jon will agree with me on this."  Her sister smiled smugly and slammed the door, leaving Sansa fuming outside.

Sansa glared at her sister's locked door and walked away.  She was trying to keep her family alive, but she received nothing but mockery and disdain from Arya for her efforts.  She didn't seem to understand what would happen to them if Jon were deposed.   _We would be traded as pawns, as chattel.  Arya doesn't understand what that means, what being raped means.  She never had a man force himself inside her violently, felt so violated that death is preferable_ , Sansa thought as she shivered remembering darker times.

"Your Highness, I am glad I found you," Talla Tarly ran toward her, the harried sound of the young woman's voice lifting Sansa out of her dark reverie.  The lady-in-waiting curtsied hastily.  "The Queen is in one of her moods and I do not know who else to turn to."

Sansa groaned - first Arya's antics, now this.  "Did you ask the King what to do?" she asked Lady Talla plainly.

Talla eyed her timidly.  "His Majesty is the reason for her current hysterics, My Princess.  The King and Queen have been fighting with each other for the entire afternoon- ever since their audience with Lord Tyrion," she whispered.  The lady-in-waiting looked around furtively and leaned closer to Sansa.  "The Queen refuses to take her medicine - the special ones sent by Marwyn."

"Coax Her Grace to take her medicines.  She will generally relent with patience," Sansa ordered, "and if she remains in hysterics, have Maester Ebrose attend to her."  She paused.  "I will speak with the King," she told the attendant. 

Talla curtsied again.  "Your Highness," she said quickly and scurried back to the Queen's rooms to attend to Her Majesty.

Sansa frowned slightly as she walked away from the Royal Apartments and down toward the Gardens through the verandas dotted with frosty blue summer roses and the fragrant lemon trees.  She annoyed that Jon, a man grown and a king, had decided to engage in such juvenile spats with his wife, especially given Daenerys' delicate health.  _Littlefinger is threatening us.  There are threats and traps all around us,_ she mused as she sauntered outside and allowed the hot late afternoon sun to beat down on her.   _The only way for us to survive and defeat those who wish us harm is to remain united as a family._ Their father always reminded them that the lone wolf died, but the pack survived.  That remained true even now that peace had come to Westeros and the Starks stood as the victors and rulers - at least temporarily.  However, it seemed like her siblings - Arya with her self-destructive flings, Jon with his brooding and existential identity crises, and Bran with whatever odd, mystical things he was up to - had forgotten their father's words.  Only Sansa remembered.  It was up to her to prevent her family's destruction.  _I will not be a pawn in someone else's game.  I will not be a toy passed around from man to man.  I will_ never _be a victim again,_ the Princess-Regent reminded herself determinedly.  She strode confidently toward one of the guards patrolling the Royal Gardens' perimeter.  "Have a carriage prepared for me," she ordered the soldier calmly.

"Yes, My Lady," the guard bowed deeply.  "Where should I tell the driver you wish to go?"

"I will tell the driver myself," Sansa replied coolly.  "It will be a short trip.  I am only going to visit an old friend who is currently in King's Landing on business."  She smiled purposefully as the soldier left to carry out her orders.   _I will never be a victim again,_ she repeated to herself.  And Sansa Stark strode confidently through the carefully manicured Royal Gardens and thought about how best to confront her old nemesis, Lord Petyr Baelish.  


	36. Daenerys VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany and Jon fight over his true identity

Her husband's silent treatment was worse than if he had screamed at her.  Jon was her Dragon, the only family that she had; she would not lose her husband because of Tyrion's treacherous words.   _I will have Tyrion's head for what he has done_ , she thought, her anger boiling to the surface.   _Even better I will burn him alive._   She pounded against the bolted doors between the King and Queen's suites and willed Jon to answer the doors, even if it was in anger.  "Jon, please just talk to me!  Yell at me!" she screamed.  "Anything but this, My Love."  She rocked back and forth on the floor crying hysterically.

"My Queen, you must get up," Talla Tarly scurried into the rooms and tried to gently urge her away from the doors to the King's rooms.  "You need to eat and take your medicines.  What would your children do without you?  What would your dragons do without you?"

Daenerys hesitated for a moment and ignored her attendant.  "I want Jon!" she sobbed going back to the door and banged at it again.

"My Queen, you need to come away from the door," the reassuring voice of an older woman gently removed her from the locked door.  "You need to remain strong and healthy for your babies and your people."

The Queen dried her eyes and looked up to see Melessa Tarly gently leading her to her dressing table.  She looked at Talla confused by Lady Tarly's sudden intrusion.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but I didn't know where else to turn," Talla stated apologetically.  "You were hysterical.  I thought that my mother would be the best person to help."

Daenerys nodded and let Melessa Tarly guide a draught of medicine to her lips.  She gulped it down without a word.

"There, My Queen," Lady Tarly whispered.  "You shouldn't let something as trivial as an argument with your husband affect your health."

Daenerys looked at the bolted door silently willing her husband to appear.

Melessa Tarly silently brushed her hair aside and wiped her face with a damp cloth.  "Hush, Your Grace," she said in a motherly tone.  "Husbands sometimes act silly.  You just need to give the King some space for his anger to abate."

The Queen nodded silently.

The Lady of Horn Hill smiled at her.  "The Queen needs some water and food," she ordered the servants who stood timidly at the edge of the room.  "Nothing too filling - some cheese and fruit perhaps?"

"I am not hungry.  I want my husband," Daenerys stated determinedly as she stared at the door again.  "I need to set things right with him."

"Get Her Majesty some food," Lady Melessa ordered, "and see if you cannot urge the King to speak with his wife - as long as he is sufficiently calm."

The serving girls curtsied timidly to the Queen and the Tarly women.  They appeared scared by the orders.  After all, no one wanted to approach the King when he was in one of his moods.

"Fine, Daenerys" Jon's loud, gruff voice replied from behind the locked door.  The bolted doors separating the two suites snapped open and the King stepped through.  He propped his cane against his left leg, crossed his hands over his chest, and stared at Daenerys frostily.

The Queen shivered when she saw the icy fury etched on Jon's face.  His cold Northern anger was even worse than his fiery Targaryen eruptions.

"I will give you one chance to explain yourself," he stated with cold fury emanating through his voice.  He looked around the room at the serving girls and ladies, annoyed by their presence.  "Leave us," he ordered the servants.

"Are you sure, Your Grace?" Lady Melessa asked delicately; it seemed like she had determined that Jon wasn't sufficiently calm to speak with his wife.  "Perhaps you should calm yourself first before you speak with the Queen.," she advised him delicately.  "Such conversations should not be held in haste."

"No, the Queen is right," Jon replied curtly.  "I cannot ignore her forever."  He glared at the ladies-in-waiting and servants again.  "Leave us," the King repeated.  "I must speak in confidence with my wife."  Jon spat out the last two words -  _my wife-_  as if those words, the fact that he had pledged himself to her angered him greatly.

The servants and ladies left hastily - all but the Tarly women who Daenerys noticed hesitated before they left the room.

Jon continued to look at her angrily.  "Dany, I don't want any more of your the damn lies," he snapped.  "I want the truth, not another game.  Just tell me why."

Her frantic facade melted into her usual steely, regal demeanor.  She got up from her dressing table, looked her angry husband straight in the eye, and walked toward him.  "I told you, Jon," she replied coolly.  "You are a Targaryen.  You are my Dragon.  You must embrace that."  She tried to embrace him and kiss him on the cheek, but he pushed her away.  "You will feel more at peace when you embrace reality," Daenerys whispered, stroking her husband's cheek even though he continued to cringe at her touch.  "Don't you want to be at peace here with your babies?  With me?" she stated pleadingly.  "You must reject the North and become who you are."

Jon removed himself from her embrace and limped toward the window clutching his cane.  "I will never be what you want.  He is not my father," he snapped.  "I will never be your Targaryen pawn, Daenerys."

The Queen glared at her husband; she was tired of him rejecting his birthright.  He was her Dragon and he would accept who he was.  She was determined to make him do so.  "Rhaegar Targaryen is your father, your birth name is Jaeherys, and you are the rightful King of Westeros," she reminded him, her cold fury matching his.  "That is the truth, Jon.  You have to deal with those truths rather than continuing with the lies you enjoy telling yourself."

"I am not lying," the King replied angrily.  "I am a Stark of Winterfell, not a Targaryen."  He stared out the large bay windows at the white towers of the upper city disdainfully.  "All this will finally be resolved when the Court moves to the North permanently," he added.

"We cannot move the Court to Winterfell permanently," Daenerys reminded Jon.  "You know that we cannot do what you wish, My Love."  She crept toward him and tried to place her arm on his shoulder.  "Our people need us here.  We cannot abandon them to the whims of ambitious lords and the machinations of the Iron Bank."

"I hate it here!" the King grumbled.  "I hate the ceremonies and the intrigue and the damn disingenuous courtiers who only want to stab us in the back."  He paused and turned away from the windows and toward her.  "I just want to go home where everything makes sense!  I belong at Winterfell.  We belong at Winterfell.  We were never meant to rule here, Dany."

"No, this is our birthright, Jon," the Queen replied forcefully.  "We are meant to rule here together."

"You mean that this is  **your** birthright, Daenerys," Jon snapped.  "Fine!  Stay then!  You'll have your throne and your crown.  That is all you care about anyways."  He picked up his cane and limped back to the door connecting their suites.  "I am leaving this cesspool and returning to the North regardless of what you decide to do."

Daenerys glared at her husband.  How dare he even think of abandoning her like that!  "You have such disdain toward Rhaegar because he abandoned Elia and your half-siblings, but you are willing to abandon your family when it suits your selfish desires the same as he was," she growled.

Jon stopped and turned toward her.  His eyes narrowed to dark gray slits as he stared at her.  "I am not abandoning my family.  I am notRhaegar Targaryen," he snapped.  "Regardless of what you decide, Ned and Rhae will return with me to Winterfell.  I won't have my children continue to grow up in this gilded prison."

The Queen walked over to her husband and grabbed his right arm.  "They are my children as well!  You will not take my babies from me!  You will not abandon me!" she stated as she squeezed his arm firmly.  "I still have three dragons, Jon.  If you dare to abandon me, if you dare to steal my babies from me, I will use them!  I will drag you back to King's Landing if I must!"

Jon's face fell, his mouth agape at her threats.  "You truly mean to keep me here as your prisoner!" he yelled.  He firmly removed her hand from his right arm.  "Fine, Your Grace.  I will stay in King's Landing and play the part of your dutiful, obedient Targaryen king.  However, you won't get anything more from me than that act!"

Daenerys stood silently, shocked by Jon's fury and ashamed by her own threats.  She had let her own anger get the better of her.  "I am sorry, Jon," she whispered.  "I didn't mean anything I said."  She began crying softly.  "I need you!  I love you!  Don't you love me anymore!"

The King glared at her, cold fury continuing to emanate from him.  "It is over, Your Grace," he replied coolly.  He turned and walked out of her dressing room and into his adjoining suite.  "I wish to be alone!  Have one of the guards come and get me if you need your pawn to attend to you," he spat out disdainfully before he loudly slammed the door shut and firmly bolted it.

The Queen sank onto the floor and began sobbing loudly.  It appeared that she had truly lost Jon.   _All I ever wanted was for Jon to be at peace with who he was_ , she thought.   _He is my Dragon!  I won't lose him!_   she added as she pounded furiously against Jon's locked door, willing her husband to return to her.  The door, however, remained firmly shut and bolted.


	37. Petyr VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr hatches a plan to use his new pawn and is confronted by an old nemesis.

The blacksmith looked at Petyr disapprovingly.  "You want to start a riot in Flea Bottom?" the young man asked.  "How does that hurt the nobility?  Won't burning down the slums just hurt the poor?"

Petyr glared at Gendry.  He was slightly annoyed by the boy's naivety.   _At least he is not whiny and entitled like Aegon_ , he thought.  "If there is instability in King's Landing, the Iron Bank will withdraw its support from the current regime and support Aegon's claim.  They will advance us money for sellswords," he explained slowly, trying to avoid condescending language toward the blacksmith.

"How does a war help the commoners?" Gendry asked.  "The commoners suffered the most from the War of the Five Kings."

Petyr rolled his eyes discreetly.  "We shall make sure the commoners do not suffer.  The monarchy is imploding from within - a few more nudges and they will be gone.  There will be no need for violence," he reassured the young man disingenuously.   _Why did the boy care about the stupid peasants?_ he asked himself, continuing to be stunned by the blacksmith's naivety.

Gendry continued to frown.  "I do not think that Aegon will be any better," he observed solemnly.  "He is a cunt like Joffrey.  He will be worse than Jaeherys Targaryen as king."

Petyr smiled slightly at the blacksmith and leaned over closer to him.  Nothing could be worse than Jaeherys Targaryen's rule in Petyr's estimation, but the young man was right that Aegon would be a disaster on the throne as well.  It was a good thing that the Targaryen brat would never end up on the throne.  "Perhaps Aegon is only a pawn, Gendry, not someone meant to rule," he whispered to the blacksmith, bringing him into his confidence.

Gendry frowned.  "How am I not a pawn as well?" he inquired.

"You are the natural son of a popular king," Petyr lied.  "The commoners love your father and whisper about the reign of good King Robert."

Gendry rolled his eyes.  "I know.  I have heard their songs," he replied sardonically.  "They are such stupid lies.  My father was a lecherous drunk.  As I've already explained to you, he did not care for me when I was alive.  He fucked my mum and disposed of her like trash."  The boy spat on the ground as he finished his rant.

"Yes, he was a horrible king, Gendry," Petyr agreed with the blacksmith.  "However, people tend to look back at the past fondly regardless of what happens.  King Robert was a cunt who deserved the death he received when he was killed.  Now he is a glorious king whose reign is very much missed by the commoners."

The blacksmith sat silently, pondering what Petyr had told him.  It appeared the young man was still skeptical of Petyr's arguments.   _At least he is still willing to listen to my arguments_ , he thought.   _Arya Stark must be more of a catch than I always thought the girl was._

Aegon walked into the parlor.  "Who are you?" the Targaryen scion asked.  He appeared annoyed by Gendry's presence.

Petyr groaned.  He really didn't wish to deal with the spoiled Targaryen brat at this moment.

Gendry appeared equally unimpressed by Aegon.  "I am Gendry Waters, Milord," he replied coolly, "Robert Baratheon's natural son."

"It is Your Grace," Aegon corrected the blacksmith curtly.  "I am the rightful King of Westeros."

"I know who you claim to be, Milord," Gendry stated.  "Everyone in King's Landing is aware of who you claim to be."  Gendry rose from his seat and walked next to Aegon.  The large, muscular Baratheon bastard cut an intimidating presence next to the slight Targaryen.  "Lord Baelish is trying to convince me to support your claim.  Perhaps if I find you to be a man worthy of being king, I will support your claim," the blacksmith told Aegon disdainfully.

Aegon crept away from Gendry slowly.  He appeared scared of the blacksmith.  "Peasants shouldn't be dictating terms to their rightful rulers," Aegon observed, eying Gendry warily.  "They should kneel obediently."  The Targaryen scion turned to Petyr.  "Why are you spending valuable time convincing this commoner of my claim?" he screeched.

Petyr rubbed his head.  _Could that brat not give me a moment of peace_ _?_ he thought angrily.  He, however, hid his anger and looked at his valuable Targaryen pawn calmly.  "Gendry is the son of a popular dead king.  His support will be valuable in rallying the commoners to our cause."

Aegon stared at Gendry disdainfully.  The Targaryen's courage appeared to have returned for now.  "This man is the issue of a traitorous usurper and a whore," he spat out.  "Rather than dictating terms to the rightful king, he should be kneeling before me, pleading for his life."

Gendry laughed at Aegon's pathetic threats.  "My initial assessment of you appears to be correct.  You would be a horrible king like Joffrey."

"I should order your tongue cut out for this insult," the Targaryen scion growled an idle threat which caused Gendry to laugh even louder.

 _Will you shut up!_ Petyr thought, annoyed by Aegon's vacuousness.  He looked at the Targaryen servilely, trying to calm the boy down.  "I was just explaining my latest plan to Gendry," he stated.

"Ah, yes, riots in the slums," Aegon observed mockingly.  "I'm sure it will work out as well as your overtures to Dorne did."

"Dorne will be with us when the time comes," Petyr insisted.  "The Dornish just tend to be fickle with these matters."

Before Aegon could think up a suitable retort, one of Petyr's servants scurried into the room.  "Milord, a carriage just stopped outside the manse - an official royal one with a full escort by the looks of it."

Petyr's eyes perked up at the description of the carriage.   _Is Jaeherys Targaryen really that stupid to confront me directly_ _?_ he thought.  "We shouldn't keep royalty waiting," he observed.  "Please escort our friends in with full honors."

"There is no need for that, Lord Baelish," a woman's smooth, sophisticated voice called out.  Sansa Stark walked into the front parlor, followed by a half-dozen Royal Guards.

Petyr looked at Sansa lustfully as she entered.  The young woman was even more beautiful and composed than he remembered her - a carbon copy of her mother.  "What a pleasant surprise, Your Royal Highness," he stated as he walked toward her.  "You look radiant as always, My Lady."

Sansa stared at him, her face neutral and unreadable.  "I need to speak with Lord Baelish alone," she stated coolly.

Aegon looked at Sansa furious with the order.

Petyr sighed.  The last thing he needed was Aegon causing a scene in front of the Princess-Regent; that was bound to end about as well as Aegon's tantrum in front of Jaeherys did.  "It would be best if everyone heard what you had to say, Your Highness," he insisted smoothly.

Sansa looked at Aegon and Gendry contemptuously.  "Fine," she replied curtly.  "I will allow your pawn to remain."  The princess's attention turned back to Petyr.  "What do you want Lord Baelish?" she asked him.

"What I've always wanted, My Lady," he replied, walking toward her slowly.

"I am to be married soon," she reminded him, spurning his advances.

"I know and it is such a pity," Petyr observed calmly.  "If you were willing to marry me, all this unpleasantness could be put behind us.  I could propose a compromise between Jaeherys and his brother.  We could split the kingdom in half between the two Targaryens.  Your brother could return to Winterfell where he is happiest."

"And I as your hostage would ensure that my brother remains in the North and doesn't try to reclaim his Southern throne," the Princess-Regent finished Petyr's thought.

"You as my beloved wife would ensure that the alliance between the Targaryens remained cordial," Petyr restated Sansa's words in a more pleasant manner.  "My dear, it would take only a simple yes from you for all this to end."  He smiled covetously at Sansa.  "Are you really willing to permit Westeros to burn because of your hatred of me?  Think of all the lives you will be able to save with a simple yes to a simple marriage proposal."

Sansa grimaced at Petyr, her guards moving closer to her at what they perceived as a threat.  "The answer is no," the Princess-Regent said curtly.  "It has always been no and will always be no, My Lord."  She nodded for her guards to move away and walked toward Petyr.  "I will never be your pawn again, Petyr.  Stay away from my family!" she threatened.  "I am no longer a little girl who you can control."

Petyr smirked.  "I know, my dear," he replied.  "I am not trying to control you.  I am only proposing a political solution that will be mutually beneficial to all parties involved."

The Princess Regent glared at him.  "You never keep your ends of such political bargains, Petyr.  It is your defining trait," she snapped.  Sansa looked around the small front parlor.  "As it appears we are at an impasse, I will take my leave of you gentleman," she replied plainly.  Sansa turned to leave the room tailed by her guards.  She paused for a minute at the corner where Gendry was observing the scene quietly.  "Aren't you the blacksmith who was caught dueling with Ser Dickon Tarly?" she asked him confused by his presence in Petyr's manse.

"Yes, Milady.  My name is Gendry," the blacksmith replied.

"I thought that you were offered a large bag of gold to leave Westeros by the Queen," Sansa stated.

"I was, Milady.  But I have done nothing wrong - at least nothing that warrants exile.  Why should I have to leave just because I offended the Queen?" Gendry replied defiantly.  "This is my home.  I am staying.  Her Majesty will just have to arrest and execute me!"

Sansa stared at the blacksmith sympathetically.  "Accept the Queen's offer and leave Westeros, Sir," she advised him gently.  "Do not lose your head because of my sister.  Arya does not love you.  She is using you like she used every other one of her men.  She will discard you when she grows bored of you."  She nodded silently to Gendry and exited the parlor followed by the Royal Guards.

Gendry grew red with anger as he watched Sansa leave.  The Princess's words appeared to have had an opposite effect on the young man than she had intended.

Petyr smiled at this.   _Her Royal Highness, Sansa Stark, fancies herself an expert player in the Game_   _when in reality she has much to learn_ , he thought mockingly.  He walked toward Gendry thinking how to exploit the boy's anger.

Aegon accosted him before he could speak with Gendry.  The Targaryen brat appeared even angrier than Gendry.  "You were willing to sell out half my kingdom because of your lust for that slut," he yelled.  "I am king and all of Westeros will kneel to me as they did to my ancestors.  That includes the North.  I will not have my servants undermining me in such a manner."

Petyr stared at Aegon contemptibly.  "Of course, I would not undermine you in such a manner, My King," he stated calmly.  "I was only lying to Sansa Stark to gain her trust."

"You think I am stupid enough to believe that!" Aegon yelled.  "You think I am your pawn!"

 _You only realized that now_ , Petyr thought mockingly as he watched the Targaryen scion storm out of the room.

Gendry was watching as well.  He held Aegon in the same contempt as Petyr did.  At least he appeared to do so.  "I am tired of nobles and kings," he stated determinedly.  "Get rid of Aegon Targaryen and I will do whatever you ask."

"As I said, Sir, Aegon was always a pawn," he replied.

Gendry's angry face melted into a wide smile.  "Tell me what you need me to do."


	38. Jon VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon broods about his fight with Dany and is confronted by Sansa about his moods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is a sulky Jon chapter.

Jon bit on his lower lip so hard that it was bloody and sore. He slammed his fists on his desk causing neat piles of scrolls to scatter on the floor.  Ghost leapt up from his spot in the cool, shaded alcove in a corner under the window and hurried toward his distressed owner.  "I'm fine, boy," he whispered softly as the direwolf whimpered and licked his face.  Both Jon and Ghost, however, knew that that was a lie.

Jon crouched down on the floor, picking up the scrolls that had fallen haphazardly on the ground of his study.  He groaned as he rose from the floor, placing too much weight on his still sore left ankle.  He limped back to his desk, placed the parchments on the edge of the table, and collapsed into a dark mahogany chair with his head in his hands.  He meant to get back to work.  There were so many papers that needed to be signed and decrees that needed to be issued.  Affairs of state never waited on a king's personal problems - Tyrion was always quick to remind him of that.  Of course, Tyrion was willing to put his own desires for power before affairs of state, so Jon wasn't sure that he should care about the Hand's counsel with regard to such matters.  The events of the past few days had reminded Jon once again that everyone in the Court was playing such dangerous games, everyone it seemed except the King himself.  He was supposed to rule as a selfless monarch while intrigue and plots swirled around him.  He had no true confidants like Davos, only selfish nobles using him for their own advancement.  _Even my wife.  Even Dany is using me for her own purposes_ , Jon thought sullenly.  Tears trickled down his face.  The fact that his wife had lied to him, that she was using him for her own selfish reasons, cut him the deepest of all.  _I gave her my soul and all she cares about is turning me into her damn Targaryen pawn.  I am nothing more than a servant she is using to perpetuate her family name.  The only thing that matters to the Queen is creating a glorious Dragon dynasty that will rule a thousand years.  My family, my feelings, and my country are nothing but afterthoughts to be trampled on in the pursuit of her ultimate goal._   Jon allowed himself to mope for a few more moments before he attempted to get back to reading his pile of parchments.  Angry thoughts continued to cloud his mind, however, and he couldn't concentrate.  He sighed and walked gingerly to the window, looking out over the gardens bathed in the late afternoon sunlight as another wave of melancholy washed over him.

A sharp rap on the door woke Jon from his dark reverie.  He mumbled a barely coherent order for his guards to open the door.  Talla Tarly walked in followed by Harrion.  The lady-in-waiting curtsied timidly.  Jon groaned at her appearance.   _This is the tenth - no the eleventh - time the Queen has sent one of her ladies to me with a pleading missive._

"Your Majesty, the Queen asked me to give this to you," Talla Tarly recited anxiously.  She handed him a delicate parchment and a blue winter rose.  "The Queen requests your presence at dinner."

Jon fingered the sealed scroll and the flower suspiciously and quickly handed them back to Lady Talla.  "Tell Her Grace that I cannot," he rebuffed the Queen's request.  "I have much work to do."

"But My King, it's been two days since you've spoken with Her Grace," Talla replied softly.  "She wishes to speak with you, to make amends."

Jon grumbled.  "Is that an order from the Queen?"

"No, just my own observation," the attendant whispered.  "The Queen is very distraught about your fight.  You should reconcile, Your Grace.  It isn't right to have our King and Queen at such odds with each other."

The King grabbed one of the parchments he had placed haphazardly on his desk and began to review it.  "Tell the Queen if she wants me to attend to her, she will have to order me to do so herself," he told the Tarly girl.

Lady Talla stood silently in his study for a moment with the undelivered letter and blue rose still in her hands.  The girl seemed unsure whether or not to leave.

Jon dropped the scroll he had been pretending to review and stared at the attendant annoyed by her continued presence in his private sanctuary.  "I said no, Lady Talla.  Did you not hear my response the first time I said it?  Tell the Queen that my answer is still no," he ordered curtly.  "And please leave.  I wish to be alone.  I am dealing with important matters of state."

Talla curtsied and scurried from the room, no doubt disappointed that her errand for the Queen had been unsuccessful.

The King watched as the young woman left the room.  His eyes then lingered on his guard who was standing awkwardly at the door.  "What is wrong, Harrion?" he asked.

"Your Grace, far be it for me to judge you, but this is the tenth letter from the Queen that you have rejected," the soldier observed quietly.  "You have locked yourself in this study like a hermit for the past two days."

"It is eleven," Jon corrected the guard wistfully.  "She has sent me eleven letters."  He regained his composure and stared at Harrion with his "king face" on.  "Any problems with my marriage are between the Queen and I.  Such private matters should not concern you," Jon reminded the guard sternly.

"I am sorry, My King," Harrion apologized.  "It is just I..." his voice trailed off as he tried to explain himself

Jon laughed in spite of his dark mood.  "How long, Harrion?"

"What do you mean, Your Grace?" Harrion stammered.

"How many days did you wager it would take before Queen and I reconciled?" the King clarified his question.

"Three, Your Majesty," the soldier admitted apologetically.

Jon smiled sadly.  "I am sorry, but you are going to lose your wager, Harrion," he stated.  "What the Queen did hurt me deeply.  I cannot forgive her that easily."  He paused for a moment and grabbed a small money pouch.  He tossed it to the startled guard.

"What is this, Your Majesty?" Harrion asked, confused by Jon's gesture.

"That is compensation for your lost wager," Jon replied.  "You are dismissed, Harrion."

"You aren't planning to do anything stupid, My King?" the guard asked as he cautiously held the money pouch.

"The last time I did something stupid I sprained my ankle," he reminded the concerned soldier.  "Go Harrion!  That is an order from your king!" he added firmly.

The guard hesitated for another moment but eventually left the King alone in his study.

Jon sighed as he watched his guard leave.  It was good to be alone, but, of course, he knew even this solitude was an illusion.  As comforting as it was to remain isolated in his study and pretend that the world did not exist, especially not his wife, he knew he could not keep this sham up forever.  The responsibilities, worries, and tensions would close in on him - they always closed in on him.  He was the King of Westeros; there was no escaping that.  Jon eyed Ghost.  "I guess we should get back to work, boy" he stated as he sat in the mahogany chair behind his desk and grabbed a parchment he had been toying with and began skimming it with a grimace.  It was a tedious report on grain stores for King's Landing.

There was another sharp knock at the door as Jon tried to concentrate on the report.  "I told the Queen I wanted to be alone," he yelled.  Jon wondered if it was Dany pounding on his door.  He hoped not; he did not want to deal with his wife at the moment.

Sansa walked through the door instead of the Queen.  "You dismissed Harrion," she observed with a frown.  She sat down across from his desk in the smooth and dainty manner for which his sister was known.

 _Only Sansa would care about such decorum when entering the private study of a family member_ , he noted wryly as he stared at her over the tedious grain report.  Of course, Jon knew better than to dismiss his sister's politeness.  Sansa's manners and poise were her weapons as much as Longclaw was his.  Beneath the stately princess and her glittering soirees was a politician with a spine of Valyrian steel.  He wondered what Sansa wanted, why she had chosen to speak with him now.  It was definitely not about money for a charity ball.

"My sprained ankle prevents me from taking any unaccompanied midnight excursions if that is what you are worried about," Jon said warily as he finally dropped the parchment detailing grain stores back on his desk.

"Instead you have chosen to remain a recluse," Sansa replied disapprovingly.  "Tyrion has been presiding over the Council while you and Daenerys sulk.  You are acting like your three-year-old son rather than a grown man, much less a king."

Jon frowned, annoyed by his sister's scolding.  "Tyrion enjoys ruling.  I don't see any problems with the current arrangement."

"Tyrion is trying to manipulate you," Sansa reminded him, "and you are letting him do so."

"Yes, he is Sansa!" Jon snapped.  "I know what Tyrion is doing and I don't care.  Let him rule if that is what he wishes!  It would be better for all of us if Tyrion was appointed regent and my family left for Winterfell.  The Queen's moods would improve; I am sure of it.  And Ned and Rhae could have a real childhood like we had rather than growing up in this cesspool!"  He smiled as he thought about happier times - of snowball fights and laughter and pranks and warmth and safety.  In the North, they would not have to deal with assassinations and plots and intrigue, only scraped knees and summer snows.  Home would make everything better- Jon was sure of that.

"You know that you cannot just return to Winterfell, Jon," his sister interjected, ending his daydream, "at least not permanently."

The King nodded sadly.  "Aye, Dany reminded me of that as well.  I am nothing more than a pawn in her games."

"That is melodramatic, Jon," Sansa replied, rolling her eyes slightly as he spoke.

"But it is true, San," he reminded her.  He continued to eye her warily as he played with his quill.  "Are you only here to scold me?" he asked her grumpily

"I would not presume to do so, Your Grace," his sister replied coolly.  "I only seek to advise you."  She grabbed his left hand, determined look in her eyes.  "The world has conspired against us yet again - Littlefinger and his pawns, the Iron Bank, the Martells and the Tarly, the Northern lords, and even your closest advisors and your own wife.  They want to take the Throne from you.  They want us to fail."  Sansa continued to stare at him, a steely glint sparkling in her eyes.  "But we have a great advantage now that we did not have the last time they tried to destroy the Starks.  You are King of Westeros, Jon, not some powerless servant.  Use the power that you've been given to protect your family."

Jon frowned.  "You want me to become a tyrant, Sansa?" he asked her curtly.  He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  "Because that is not what father would want.  We cannot sell our souls for political power."

"You should not suspend the Charter, Jon," Sansa demurred.  "I just want you to act as king rather than sulking and whining about everything."

The King eyed his sister uncertainly.  "What would you have me do, Sansa?" he asked his sister.

Sansa shifted forward in her seat gracefully and squeezed his hand tightly.  "I realize now that the marriage contract between Arya and Dickon was a mistake.  Cancel it and replace it with one between Ned and Jeyne Tarly.  Give Randyll Tarly what he wants but on your own terms."

"Sam would never agree to such an engagement," Jon argued.  "He despises the Court and barely acknowledges me.  I doubt he would wish for his daughter to have to reside here permanently."  Jon paused as he remembered the old friend who was now almost a stranger to him.  That friendship was just another thing he had lost when he gained a crown.

"I have spoken to Gilly and she has no objections," she stated, dismissing his concerns.

"Gilly agreed?" the King questioned his sister, surprised by her revelation.

"Not exactly," Sansa admitted.  "But she did not raise any objections."

"Silence is not agreement," Jon reminded Sansa.  "Besides, even if you get Sam and Gilly to agree to the engagement, Randyll Tarly will still see it as an insult."

"Arya mentioned that he would be offended," the Princess Regent conceded.  "But I do not see why he would react in such a way.  He was willing to overlook Arya's eccentricities for a royal marriage and this is a much better match.  His granddaughter will one day be queen."

Jon eyed his sister uncertainly.  He doubted Randyll Tarly would give up his prejudices even if it meant his blood would one day sit on the throne.

"It is a good compromise, Jon," Sansa asserted calmly.

"You are going to keep nagging me about this until I agree, aren't you?" he asked as he continued to stare at his determined sister.

She pursed her lips into a small smile and nodded.

"Fine," Jon conceded.  "I will speak to the Tarlys about your proposal.  However, if it offends Lord Tarly, you are the one who will have to assuage his anger."

"Good," the Princess Regent stated.  "I know that this won't deal with Littlefinger directly but it will secure the Reach's continued fealty without involving our sister."  Sansa's voice dripped with disapproval at the mention of Arya.

Jon frowned.  He wondered what Arya had done to raise Sansa's ire now but he really did not want to have to play the role of peacemaker between his sisters, especially not now when he was having troubles with Dany.  Instead, he ignored her comments about Arya.  "And I am sure that you have advice for me on dealing with Littlefinger as well," Jon added offhandedly.

"I paid a visit to Littlefinger while you've been sulking about your wife," his sister stated.  "I understand you cannot arrest Littlefinger, Jon, but why can't you arrest his pawns?  Why is this Aegon character still allowed to walk free?  Why, for that matter, is Gendry?"

"Gendry is conspiring with Baelish?" the King replied, shocked by his sister's revelation.  "He... he saved my life.  Why would he conspire against the Crown?"

"I don't know, Jon," Sansa replied.  "But he was at Petyr's manse when I paid Littlefinger a visit and that is enough to arrest him for treason."

Jon glared at his sister.  "I won't arrest a man based on such a coincidence, especially not Arya's close friend."

"Then make up some charges to at least hold the blacksmith until this unpleasantness with Littlefinger has passed," Sansa insisted.

"You do want me to violate the Charter, to become a tyrant," he observed angrily. "My excursion with Arya to Flea Bottom may have been unwise but it did provide me with valuable insight into how the commoners view the Crown. They hate us, Sansa.  I gave them the Charter and care about their well-being, yet they still curse me as a tyrant.  Now you want me to confirm their worst suspicions by arresting people on trumped-up charges."

"Kings, by their very nature, are tyrants," Sansa reminded him calmly.  "As long as you wear a crown, people will always curse you and blame you for their problems.  You will never be beloved, not truly, despite the schools you build or the monsters you defeat."  She continued to stare at him with the steely glint in her eyes.  "You have been king for over three years, Jon.  You should have come to that realization by now."

Jon stared at his sister silently, anger slowly rising in his body as he contemplated what she was asking of him.  Ghost noticed his master's distress and nuzzled next to him with a whimper.

Realizing it was best to leave him to his thoughts, Sansa rose from her chair.  "I will leave you to contemplate your next moves, Your Majesty," she stated solemnly.  "I know you will do the right thing."  She paused for a moment before opening the door.  "And Jon, it would be for the best if you resolved this silly fight with Daenerys.  The Crown must show a united front."  With that, his sister slowly closed the door and left Jon to the solitude that he had only moments before relished but was now not so sure he wished to face.


	39. Jorah III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jorah searches for Sarella

He found Sarella Sand working in a dingy tavern in the slums around the port.  She was serving ale and cleaning tables.  Jorah wondered if she was selling other wares to make ends meet.   _Probably_ , he thought.  The Lord Protector of Oldtown looked at the girl with pity as she dealt with the jeering catcalls and groping of drunk sailors.  "My Lady, I am glad that I finally found you.  I've needed to talk with you this past fortnight," he told her gently.

Sarella grew white with terror.  "Please don't report me to the Citadel, My Lord.  The last girl they caught studying there was beaten by the other acolytes and paraded naked through the streets of Oldtown," she pleaded.

Jorah looked at Sarella sympathetically.  "You can trust me with your secrets, Lady Sarella," he insisted forcefully.  "It seems wrong to me that Queen Daenerys can rule Westeros but a bright young woman cannot get an education at the Citadel."

Sarella continued to eye him suspiciously.  "Those are the rules, Ser Jorah," she reminded him softly.  The young woman appeared resigned to her fate.

The knight thought about what his dear Khaleesi would want and smiled gently at the young girl.  "Those rules can change, Sarella," he reassured her.  "I am certain Queen Daenerys will allow women to study at the Citadel if we request such a favor from the Crown."

"It seems unwise to rock the boat in such a manner," Sarella replied, dropping her cleaning rag on a nearby table.  "The maesters are already conspiring against the King and Queen.  Imagine how they will react if Queen Daenerys allows women to study at the Citadel.  The tense situation will explode like wildfire."

"Such drastic changes can perhaps wait," Jorah conceded.  "However, those changes must come eventually."  He looked at the young woman sympathetically.  "But in the short-term, I agree you should continue to pretend to be a man."

"That is impossible now, Ser Jorah.  I was exposed by Lady Lynesse," the acolyte reminded him.  "I doubt that she will keep such a secret to herself.  She despises the Dornish in general and my family in particular."

"Lady Lynesse will keep your secret if she wishes to remain in my house," Jorah replied firmly.  "She may be my wife but I won't tolerate her interfering with affairs of state due to her petty jealousies."

Sarella perked up at his pronouncement.  "I am needed for affairs of state?" she asked him tentatively.

"Sam must remain in King's Landing for the time being," Jorah stated.  "You are the only one who can help me uncover whatever nefarious plots Marwyn is hatching."

"Can you not uncover the plot without me?" the young Dornish woman inquired hesitatingly.  "You have been granted authority by the Crown over the affairs of Oldtown."

"Marwyn is likely relying on ancient texts to defeat the Targaryens' dragons -texts which I cannot read," Jorah stated sheepishly.  "They are all in Valyrian.  I can barely understand the bastardized Valyrian of Meereen, let alone the ancient Valyrian in these texts."

Sarella sighed.  "I will help you.  Just bring the texts here," she ordered.  "I will translate them for you."

"No," Jorah said eyeing the dingy tavern.  "You are coming home with me, My Lady."

The young Sandsnake pursed her lips.  "Lady Lynesse won't like that!" she reminded him yet again.

"I know, Lady Sarella," Jorah insisted, "and I do not care about her anger."

"You should," Sarella retorted.  "She could cause the death of both us and the destruction of Westeros.  She is a vain and greedy woman."

"Aye, she is a vain and greedy woman," Jorah agreed.  "However, her pettiness will keep her from destroying anything.  She may scream and rail against your presence but she wishes to remain the wife of the Lord Protector of Oldtown more than she despises you."

Sarella continued to look him skeptically but, in the end, she followed him out of the tavern.  "I might as well risk your hospitality," she reasoned as she walked with him along the bustling harbor.  "It is better than spending the rest of my life serving ale to drunken sailors."

Jorah smiled slightly as the cynical young acolyte continued to walk with him through the bustling port and down the promenade along the sunlit Honeywine River toward his well-appointed townhouse at the center of the city.  Shuffling papers and dealing with mundane affairs after his extensive adventures through Essos had become tedious for the knight, so it gladdened his heart immensely to be able to perform this small act of kindness for a lost young woman.  He knew his queen would approve of it and Sarella's knowledge would be able to protect Daenerys from her enemies.  At least, this was how Jorah justified his actions as he walked down the fashionable promenade side by side with Ellaria Sand's runaway daughter and right into the brunt of his wife's considerable wrath.

And to say that Lynesse was angry was a considerable understatement.  His wife was waiting for them in the gleaming white marble vestibule of his manse, glaring at him and Sarella entered.  Lynesse's usually perfectly coiffed hair was askew and her face contorted into a fearsome grimace.   _She is so angry at me that she is allowing herself to be seen with wild hair and wrinkles_ , Jorah observed wryly as he stared at his wife defiantly.

"How dare you bring your Dornish whore into my house!" his wife screeched as she continued to stare at Sarella disdainfully.

"How did you know where I was going?" Jorah asked his wife gruffly, motioning for Sarella to come into the foyer as he spoke.

"I know exactly where you have been disappearing to the last fortnight.  I am not stupid, Jorah.  I have spies among the household staff," Lynesse snapped.  "I will not be set aside in favor of your Dornish slut."

Jorah glared at his wife, anger rising through his normally calm body.  "I do not have to answer to you, Lynesse," he growled.  "Perhaps you should find something productive to do with your time rather than having me followed to satisfy your paranoid fantasies."

"I will not be mocked by you in such a manner," his wife shrieked, her face growing more red and wrinkled as she spoke.  "I should have informed my father and the Citadel about Sarella Sand's deception a fortnight ago rather than allowing the slut to flee.  Well, perhaps I will inform them now."

Jorah slammed his hand against the heavy front door.  "I took you back, Lynesse, only because you are my wife in the eyes of the gods and according to the laws of Westeros," the knight replied angrily.  "However, if you dare endanger the Crown or the stability of Westeros through an act of petty revenge like the one you are threatening, I will throw you onto the streets.  Screw the damn gods and the damn laws."

That final threat caused Lynesse to relent in her tirade.  She glared at Jorah and Sarella one last time and stormed from the room, the ample skirts of her pale green dress sashaying as she left.

Sarella crept forward from the place further inside the foyer.  "I told you this was a bad idea," she hissed.

Jorah smiled at Sarella reassuringly.  "She will scream and curse a few more times, but will eventually drop her complaints," he explained to the young woman.  "You just need to learn to ignore her shrill nagging as I have."  He sighed once more at the thought of Lynesse and her tantrums and motioned for Sarella to follow him into his private study.

The acolyte eyed him skeptically with her hands crossed over her chest, unconvinced by his reassurances for a long moment.  "You have the Valyrian manuscripts in your study?" she finally inquired, ending the awkward silence between them.

Jorah nodded silently.

Sarella sighed and began walking into the study without any further bidding.  "How did you get the scrolls?" she said as she strode firmly to the study.

"Varys' little birds," Jorah admitted.  "Pageboys at the Citadel.  I was able to bribe them with sweets and pocket money."

"Marwyn doesn't know that his scrolls are missing?" Sarella asked skeptically.

"He likely does," Jorah admitted solemnly.

Sarella rolled her eyes again and opened the door to the study.  "Lady Lynesse isn't the only problem that you are casually dismissing, Ser Jorah," she muttered under her breath as she turned to the scrolls.  Her anger and annoyance with him, however, soon turned to delight as she stared at the Marwyn's stolen scrolls.  "You need me to translate these for you," she asked as she carefully caressed the ancient scrolls.  "Only true maester are allowed access to such delicate texts."

"I have heard that," Jorah replied.  "However, the maesters have suspect allegiance to the Crown.  You, on the other hand, don't." 

"I know that Jorah," Sarella replied offhandedly as she sat down at the table and began diving into the ancient Valyrian text in the yellowed scrolls.

Jorah watched amused as the young woman happily scanned the texts, silently mouthing the ancient Valyrian words in as she tore through the texts.

"Oh," Sarella said suddenly.  Her face dropped as she placed the delicate parchment on the desk.

The knight looked at the young woman concerned.  "What is wrong, Sarella?" he inquired.  "More information about how to kill dragons?  Has Marwyn found a way to neutralize them?"

"Even worse," the acolyte looked at him with her brows furrowed.  "Perhaps we were mistaken about Marwyn wanting to kill the dragons outright.  He must have been intentionally leading us away from his true intentions."

"What could be worse than Marywn showing Littlefinger how to kill a dragon?"  Jorah replied.

Sarella sighed, her face remained shell-shocked.  "This is about the use of some sort of horn to control dragons.  It is right here in the text.  They use the word 'letagon' which means to bind in High Valyrian," she pointed out the exact words in the text to Jorah.  "They are talking about a horn that binds the dragon user.  Marwyn is seeking to control the dragons, not kill them.

The Lord Protector's face paled as he contemplated the young woman's words.  _Dragons controlled by the Citadel or perhaps even Littlefinger rather than the Crown_ , he thought.   _The horrors that could be unleashed by that are unimaginable._   "I must inform the Queen about this at one," he whispered as he got out a parchment and began writing his queen a hastily written message.


	40. Tyrion VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion attempts to strike a deal with the North

Tyrion watched from the back of the Great Hall as Jon and Daenerys sat uncomfortably on their thrones and tried to ignore each other.  Each time the Queen made an attempt to touch the King, he flinched.  Jon was so disgusted with his wife that he refused to even engage in a mummer's farce for the Court.  The Crown's Hand smirked bitterly; his rash outburst might be enough for him to maintain his position.   _To power_ , he thought mockingly as he continued to watch the icy farce unfolding before him.

The young Lady of Bear Island walked toward Tyrion as he continued to observe Jon and Daenerys.  "You asked to see me, My Lord Hand?" Lyanna Mormont stated.  She turned toward the front of the Great Hall and stared at the two sullen monarchs disdainfully.  "They could at least make effort to be civil with each other in public," she sniffed.

"The North has always been wary of the King's marriage, My Lady," Tyrion reminded her.  "I thought the Northern lords would be pleased that your king has finally realized the truth about his Targaryen Queen."

"I have always disapproved of His Majesty's marriage," Lyanna replied truthfully.  She turned back to staring at Jon and Daenerys.  "However, he chose to marry Daenerys Targaryen of his own free will.  He should deal with the consequences of his decision like a man rather than sulking about it like a child."

"Even if that means the North will be subjugated by the Targaryens once again?" Tyrion asked slyly.  "The current political arrangement must anger a Northern patriot like yourself."

Lyanna Mormont's face darkened.  "What does the Lannister Hand of a Targaryen Queen care of Northern independence?" she snapped.

"I care because as Hand, it is my job to care about discontent among the lords and ladies of the realm.  Perhaps we can come up with an alliance that will be mutually beneficial to both of us - the North and the Crown," Tyrion replied calmly.  _And to me, most importantly_ , he added silently.  He motioned for the young lady of Bear Island to follow him into a nearby room.  "It is a bad idea to discuss such plots in the middle of the Great Hall."

"Why should I agree to conspire with you, Lord Tyrion?" Lyanna inquired warily.  "Rumors around the Court suggest you have fallen out of favor with your queen and will be replaced by Arya Stark after the Council.  Perhaps you wish to entrap me in treason to regain favor with Her Majesty."  The girl glared at him once more and began to briskly walk away from him.

"You should agree, My Lady, because an alliance with me is the only chance to get the independence you truly desire," Tyrion replied calmly at the young woman.  "You can whine to the King in private audiences and pass resolutions in your council insisting that the Court move to Winterfell.  However, His Grace has the final say on any move and my understanding is that he has already refused your demand."

Lyanna slowly turned back toward Tyrion, intrigued by his analysis of the situation.  "His Majesty wishes to return to the North, My Lord.  The only time I've seen him truly happy is when he talks about Winterfell," she reminded him.  "I am sure that with enough pressure, he will eventually acquiesce to his lords' demands."

Tyrion walked toward a hidden alcove in the back of the Great Hall with Lyanna walking beside him.  "I don't doubt the power of your voice, Lyanna Mormont," he replied, "but even a powerful voice cannot overcome political realities.  Your king willingly entered into a marriage with Daenerys Targaryen that binds him to the Throne of Westeros; even you have conceded that political reality."

"I understand the realities, My Lord," Lyanna argued calmly.  "That is why I am proposing a compromise.  Jon remains King of Westeros, but the Court moves to Winterfell."  The young girl's brown eyes darted around the Great Hall and she sniffed at the opulence of the room disdainfully.  "Why does the Court need to remain in this cesspool of disease, corruption, and violence?"

"Your proposal is a fantasy, My Lady.  In addition to the discontent that such a move would provoke among the Southern lords, Queen Daenerys will never agree to move the Court to Winterfell.  The North has never embraced her and she is equally reticent of them," Tyrion reminded Lyanna.

The Lady of Bear Island nodded, silently conceding his point.  "So what do you suggest, Lord Tyrion?  It seems that we are at a stalemate."

"There are ways to unbind Jon from the Throne.  With enough persuasion and bribes, the High Septon may be willing to annul his marriage," the Hand explained.  "The Faith has always been wary of marriages between such close relatives - without the necessary dispensations from the High Septon, of course."

Lyanna rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath about the "ridiculousness of the Southerners' gods."  "Why would you propose annulling a marriage you were so keen on negotiating in the first place?" she then asked skeptically.

"It was in Westeros' interests for the marriage to occur three years ago, and perhaps now it would be in Westeros' interests if that marriage ended," Tyrion suggested, creeping farther into the alcove's shadows.   _And it is definitely in my interests for the pair to remain at odds with each other._

Lyanna continued to stare at him skeptically.  "I do not trust you, Lord Tyrion," she replied and began to walk away from him again.

"I am not asking you to trust me, Lady Lyanna," Tyrion stated calmly.  "I am just asking you to work with me to achieve a goal that is in our mutual interests.  Remain as skeptical of me as you wish."

The Lady of Bear Island's stern facade softened slightly.  "If I was to agree to your alliance, what would you need me to do?" she inquired cautiously.

"Keep reminding the King about the North's discontent with the current political arrangement," Tyrion replied.  "Let me handle the Faith and the Queen."

Lyanna tilted her head slightly.  "Our talk has been intriguing.  I will think about your offer, My Lord Hand."  The young woman bowed slightly and walked away.

Tyrion smiled as he watched the young woman leave.

"Pleased with your negotiation skills?" a voice observed from an even darker recess in the cavernous Hall.  "You do have a way of charming even the most hard-nosed courtiers.  However, I am not sure that discussing treason so casually in the Great Hall is a wise political move."

Tyrion stared at Varys and silently cursed the spymaster's ability to remain hidden in the shadows.  "Talking about the unfortunate state of the royal marriage isn't a treasonous offense," he pointed out curtly.

"You are the one responsible for the unfortunate state of the royal marriage," Varys reminded him contemptuously.  "Causing unnecessary tensions between the King and Queen to keep political power is treason in my mind.  We need to remain united if we have any hope of defeating the powerful enemies arrayed against, and instead of unity, you have set Jon and Daenerys at war with each other."

"Westeros needs me in power more than it needs a tranquil marriage between the King and Queen," Tyrion snapped.

Varys frowned.  "No man is indispensable, my friend," he argued calmly.  "I should have never told you about the whispers regarding Arya Stark's appointment.  I didn't realize you would act so rashly."  The spymaster eyed Tyrion sadly.  "You will cease with these plots and reconcile Jon and Daenerys with each other or I will be forced to inform Their Majesties of your treasons."

"Don't resort to such empty threats, Varys," Tyrion replied.  "Both you and I know that they are just words.  You will never report my plots to the Crown because you know that I am indispensable regardless of your words otherwise."  He gestured toward the uncomfortable spectacle unfolding in the front of the Great Hall.  "Those two couldn't have remained on the Throne for a week, let alone over three years, without my counsel."

"Westeros needs you, Lord Tyrion," Varys conceded, "but it needs a tranquil marriage between the King and Queen more.  I fear from the realm if the Queen and especially the King's current emotional state remains permanent."  He looked at Tyrion and sighed futilely.  "If I cannot dissuade you from hatching such nefarious plots, I can at least be assured that they will never work."

"An annulment is a longshot," the Hand admitted.  "However, it is an avenue worth pursuing.  In the eyes of the Faith, Jon and Daenerys' marriage is of questionable validity."

"It is only invalid if the High Septon says it is invalid and I doubt that he wishes for his numerous indiscretions to become public," the spymaster retorted.  "Not to mention that Their Graces will never agree to annulment despite their current feelings toward each other."  Varys gestured to the twin thrones where Jon and Daenerys were currently glaring at each other angrily.  "Daenerys is quite possessive of 'her Targaryen king' and Jon would never agree to a separation because it is something that Rhaegar would have done."

Tyrion stared at his sworn monarchs.  "I know that it is a longshot, Varys," he growled.  "While being rid of the North and the Starks entirely, especially Arya Stark, would be preferable, a distracted and disinterested monarchy with a strong Hand stepping into the power vacuum is a more than adequate outcome - at least from my perspective."  He continued to observe the King and Queen, his eyes turning to narrow black slits as his rage and jealousy boiled up from his stomach.  He had sacrificed so much to pacify the realm and secure Daenerys Targaryen her 'precious' throne and 'precious' dynasty, only to be unappreciated, ignored, and set aside by his sworn queen.  "I always thought that my father's greatest error was failing to be content with ruling from the shadows, with coveting a Lannister dynasty on the Iron Throne above all else.  Perhaps I was wrong," he growled as he allowed waves of anger to wash over him.  "Perhaps Petyr Baelish is right.  It is better to be a king than a servant - even a servant with vast powers."

"I will ignore your treasonous words, for the time being, Tyrion because I truly value our friendship," Varys warned him.  "However, you are playing with fire and will end up being burned by it.  Those who put their own desires for power before the interests of the realm will always fail.  That was your father's main error and if you persist on this dangerous course, you will end up with the same fate."  The spymaster grabbed Tyrion's sleeve.  "You do not want me as an enemy, My Lord."

Tyrion pulled away from Varys, glared at his old friend once more, and began walking away from the spymaster.  Rage and jealousy and plots and treasons danced through his head as he stormed out of the Hall.


	41. Daenerys VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany receives sage advice from Gilly. She devises a plan to win Jon back.

The Queen walked beside her husband as they exited the Great Hall.  Jon walked silently, refusing to touch her hand or even acknowledge her presence.  There was a frigid formality in his movements that upset Daenerys even more than his anger.  She wanted Jon to speak to her, even if it was to curse her.  Anything was better than the zombie walking next to her, who ignored her other than to utter short phrases.  She smiled at Jon and tried to touch his right shoulder, only to be rebuffed by him again.  Daenerys' face sunk with disappointment.   _Perhaps just speak about affairs of state_ , she thought as she continued to stare at her sullen husband.  "The final plans for the closing gala of the Council need to be approved," the Queen stated.  "I will have one of my ladies bring them in your private study for you to review."

"Yes, My Queen," Jon mumbled.  He began walking at a faster clip toward their apartments.

She pulled up the skirts of her long dress and began to follow him as fast as her slippers and formal clothing would allow.  "Is that all you are willing to say to me, Jon?" she asked him desperately.  "Is that what our marriage is now - you uttering 'Yes' and 'No' quietly as if you were my servant?"

The King stopped walking and glared at her, presumably annoyed by her continued presence.  "You made it very clear that that is what I am to you, Daenerys," he snapped.  "I have always been nothing more than a servant.  I now realize that I have always been deluding myself about what our arrangement truly is."

Daenerys cringed as she heard her husband describe their marriage coldly as an "arrangement."  It felt like a ton of rocks had been dropped on her.  She stopped walked and stared at her angry husband, silently willing him to forgive her. "That is not true, Jon," Daenerys finally whispered.  "I would never treat you like my servant."

"You are imprisoning me here in King's Landing," the King snapped, reminding her of the angry threats that she had made toward him.

"I am sorry, My Love," the Queen apologized.  "It was an idle threat made in the heat of an argument."  She tried to grab his left arm, only to have him rebuff her yet again.

Jon rubbed his forehead, removed his hated crown from his head, and began toying with it as was his habit when something was troubling him.  The King didn't appear irate, but rather sad, lonely, and overwhelmed as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders and he had lost the one person in whom he thought he could confide.  He gulped deeply, placed his crown back on his head, and turned away from her.  He began striding briskly down the hall toward their apartment again.  "I... I don't want to talk about this, Daenerys," he stammered as he nodded for the guards standing outside to open the doors.  "I am tired of having the same argument with you."  His weary face glanced back at her.  "I wish to be alone," he sighed.  "Have one of your ladies fetch me if you need me to attend Court.  I will be in my study."  He strode through the doors with a slight limp and walked into his private sanctuary, slamming the study door firmly behind him.

The Queen walked resignedly into her dressing room.  She sat down in front of the vanity and was immediately swarmed by some of her giddier ladies-in-waiting led by Agnes Tyrell.  Talla and Melessa Tarly were nowhere in sight.  Daenerys sighed, stood up, and nodded for the giggly attendants to begin undressing her.

"You seem distressed, Your Grace," chirped Agnes as she removed the Queen's crown and jewels and began to unbutton Daenerys' formal black and red dress.

"It is nothing, Agnes," Daenerys whispered.

"The King will forgive you, My Queen.  He just needs time," one of her newest ladies, Martha Royce, blurted out as she unbraided and combed Daenerys' hair.

Agnes glared at the girl and motioned for her to leave the Queen's presence.

Daenerys shook her head.  "There is no need," she ordered firmly.  "Don't punish Lady Martha.  She was just trying to comfort me."

"I am sorry, Your Grace," Agnes replied with a deep curtsy, "but Lady Melessa Tarly thought it best that we don't discuss the King around you.  She doesn't want you to become distraught again."

The Queen groaned.  "I am not an invalid who needs protecting, Lady Agnes."  Daenerys knew Melessa Tarly meant well but the woman's prying was becoming a bit annoying.  _It is almost if she thinks she is my mother and not a subject_ , she thought exasperatedly as she stepped out of her skirts.  _I am a woman grown and a queen at that.  I don't need a mother._

Agnes nodded silently as she finished helping the Queen out of her tight stays and into a green silk afternoon dress.  "Perhaps we can organize an intimate soiree with some ladies of the Court this afternoon.  Gossip and laughter might improve your mood," the attendant suggested cautiously.

Daenerys frowned.  The last thing that would improve her mood was having to graciously host an event where vapid courtiers made passive-aggressive remarks about her recent fight with Jon.

Agnes timidly moved away from the Queen.  "I am sorry, Your Grace.  Perhaps we can think of a better diversion then?  A walk in the gardens with Their Royal Highnesses?"

The Queen continued to rub her brow as Agnes and the other ladies chirped on with more suggestions to improve her disposition.  The lively conversations of her ladies began causing her head to ache.  "Please leave," she ordered firmly.  "I want to be alone."  What Daenerys truly wanted was for her husband to forgive her and to embrace his true identity.  Solitude was a poor alternative to that, but at least it allowed her to brood rather than forcing her to playact the role of gracious monarch.

Agnes curtsied and nodded for the gaggle of ladies to remove themselves from the boudoir.  The attendants followed Agnes with a high-pitched chorus of perfectly synchronized farewells and delicate curtsies, which caused Daenerys' head to throb even more.   _Damn ditzy courtiers_ , she growled as she stalked out of her dressing room and into her bedroom.  She lay down on her bed, hoping that sleep would ease her mind, but a sharp knock on her door disturbed her peace before her eyes could even close.  "Who is there?" Dany asked sharply as she walked toward the doors of her suite.  "I told my ladies that I wished to be alone."

Harrion stood outside the suite doors followed by Gilly Tarly.  The captain's face was beet red.  He appeared flustered by something the seamstress had said.  "I am... er... sorry, Your Majesty, but Mistress Gilly was insistent on seeing you," Harrion stuttered.  "Something to do with final measurements for your dress," he added, his face turning a darker shade of red as he spoke.

Daenerys' frowned melted into a small smile as she observed the guard's obvious discomfort discussing such feminine matters.  "Please show her in," the Queen ordered calmly and directed Gilly into her boudoir.  She did truly desire to be alone with her thoughts, but a monarch's appointments never truly ended.  _At least Gilly will have something interesting to say in contrast with the giddy chirps of my attendants_ , she thought wryly.

Gilly laughed as she watched Harrion scurry quickly from the room.  "I am sorry about the intrusion, Your Grace," she apologized as she turned her attention to Daenerys.  "I generally speak to your ladies about our appointments, but they were nowhere to be found."

The Queen pursed her lips.  "Their chatter was giving me a headache," she admitted.

The dressmaker chuckled a bit more and bent down to rifle through her satchel, ignoring royal protocol.  "I would constantly have a headache if I was surrounded by women such as Agnes Tyrell," she replied amusingly as she tried to find her measuring tape and cloth samples.  "Now, if you don't mind, I need you to place this against your shoulder and see how the color looks."  Gilly placed a sample of deep red silk braiding against Dany's right shoulder.  "This color sets nicely against your skin tone.  It will work well for the trim around your bodice."  She smiled and took out her tape to take measurements of the Queen's waist and bodice.  "You will truly look regal at the Council's Ball, Your Grace," the woman reassured her, "like how I imagine Queen Alysanne looked in her youth - or at least how the books describe her."

Daenerys smiled sadly.  "At least the dress will look beautiful," she agreed.  She dropped into a chair in front of her vanity as Gilly wrote the measurements down in a small book.  Her recent estrangement with Jon had caused her to truly dread the upcoming festivities.  It had changed from an occasion of merriment to just another stiff formal Court ceremony where she was required to playact a gracious monarch while her sullen husband stood beside her sulking.

Gilly looked up from her notes and touched the Queen's left shoulder sympathetically.  "Marriage is always difficult, Your Grace," she reassured her.  "Sam and I have our share of quarrels."

"The King will forgive you with time," Dany added, finishing what she assumed Gilly's words to be.

"I didn't mean it in that way, My Queen," the dressmaker replied as she picked up her satchel.  "Sometimes, we must atone before reconciliation is possible."

Dany looked down at the table, trying to prevent Gilly from seeing the tears welling up in her eyes.  "I already tried pleading for Jon's pardon numerous times.  He has rebuffed me on every occasion," she whispered.  "What else can I do?"

"You may not want to hear my advice," the dressmaker stated neutrally as she finished gathering her supplies.

The Queen sighed.  "You have my permission to speak freely," she insisted.  "I am tired of being surrounded by sycophants who tell me only what they think I want to hear."

Gilly eyed Daenerys carefully.  "Well, Your Grace," she began slowly.  "Based on my limited observations of you and the King, you tend to treat His Majesty as a possession you can control.  You desire to make him into something he is not."

The Queen sunk further into her vanity chair.  "He is Rhaegar Targaryen's son," she pointed out firmly.  "I just want him to be the Targaryen king he always was meant to be."  She imagined Jon as her Dragon, ruling comfortably from his throne with his hated crown finally sitting easily upon his head.  The daydream made her smile.

"He is not yours alone, My Queen," Gilly stated.  "He belongs as much to the North than he does to you."  The dressmaker glanced at her tentatively.  "You may need to let him go.  Things cannot continue as they are.  Jon is a shell of the man I first met at Castle Black.  All the spirit and vitality he once possessed have drained from him." 

"I cannot let him return to Winterfell permanently," the Queen insisted sadly.  "Jon and my children are the only family that I have left.  I cannot be alone again."

"But he seems so unhappy as king, Your Grace," Gilly replied emphatically.  "You do not wish for him to spend his life resenting you."

Dany shook her head silently.  She did not want Jon to resent her, but surely there was a different way.  "Jon will learn to be content here in King's Landing with time," she reasoned instead.  "It has only been three years.  I just need to continue to be patient and allow him space to adjust."

"Perhaps," Gilly conceded, but her tone suggested that she remained unconvinced by the Queen's words.  "It is difficult to know how to do what is best for the ones we love," the dressmaker added kindly, perhaps to show that she understood the Queen's predicament.  She placed her satchel over her right shoulder and curtsied shallowly.  "I will leave you to your solitude, Your Majesty," Gilly stated before leaving Daenerys alone.

Dany looked in the mirror and frowned as she contemplated Gilly's words.  In her heart of hearts, she knew that she should permit Jon to return to Winterfell and be prepared to lose him permanently if necessary.  They grew up in two different worlds and their marriage was conceived as a political necessity during a time of war.  Perhaps their "arrangement" was never meant to endure through the peace that came once the wars had been won.

Dany, however, knew that she could never let Jon go in the way Gilly counseled.  It was selfish of her, but she could never be alone without her dragon again.   _There must be another way to keep Jon content with his life here_ , she thought.  She eyed her small vial of Moon Tea amid the various bottles of creams and make-ups scattered on her table and dumped the contents into a nearby chamber pot.  Jon doted on Ned and Rhae and she knew that he would adore another child even though he protested otherwise.  He would be happy once again in King's Landing with her and in time he would grow into the Targaryen king he was always meant to be.  The Queen of Westeros smiled brightly as she fingered the empty vial of Moon Tea and schemed of ways that she could seduce her husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Dany's I'm gonna get knocked up and Jon is gonna totally stay with me because of it scheme is a really bad idea. Where I am going is that people make a whole bunch of really bad decisions due to their own petty concerns and neuroses. They do not act rationally or even in their best interests. And we are talking about a whole cast of characters with severe emotional and psychological scars.


	42. Sansa IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa proposes her compromise to the Tarlys

Sansa sat at the head of the high table with Ser Wilhelm seated to her right.  Her observant blue eyes scanned the length of the Banqueting Hall, mindful as always for plots and threats.  Ser Wilhelm noticed her scanning the room, squeezed her right hand, and kissed it gently.  "Perhaps you can relax for the night, My Love," her fiance suggested gently.  "Enjoy the fruits of your labors rather than searching for nonexistent threats."  He pulled a stray hair from her face and stared deeply into her eyes.  "I promise you that I will protect you with my life," the knight vowed.  "You have no reason to fear the world anymore."

The Princess Regent smiled and nodded a silent acknowledgment of her fiance's promise.  Ser Wilhelm meant well, but she knew she could never heed his advice.  The innocence of her childhood, her enjoyment of such frivolous things such as lemon cakes and jewels, ended years ago after her father was executed in front of her on the orders of Joffrey Baratheon and she was brutally abused and passed around like chattel because of her claim.  There were plots and threats around her even now that she stood near the pinnacle of power as the Princess Regent of the North and was widely toasted as the gem of the Royal Court.  The jewels, titles, and acclaim were fleeting and could easily be lost with one wrong move.   _I will become chattel once again - chattel to him_ , she thought grimly as she continued to discreetly scan the room.  No man, not even one as noble as Wilhelm Manderlay or as powerful as Jon could protect her.   _I am not a damsel waiting for a knight to rescue me.  I must protect myself._

Sansa plastered a large smile on her face and nodded genteelly toward all the courtiers who approached her with their stately bows and curtsies.  She listened docilely while the women cooed at her jewels and the men congratulated Ser Wilhelm and toasted the health of the King and Queen.  Her keen blue eyes examined each courtier closely, noting the selfish agendas beneath their polite smiles and well-stated oaths of loyalty. 

"Your Highness," Lady Melessa Tarly stated as she approached the dais escorted by her sour husband.  "It is good to see you so content here in King's Landing.  Surely, you will consider remaining in King's Landing once the Council ends.  The Court will be without its gem."

"I thank you for such a kind compliment, My Lady," Sansa lied sweetly.  "I have truly enjoyed my time in King's Landing, but I cannot remain after the Council.  His Majesty wishes that I administer the North in his name."

Melessa Tarly smiled knowingly.  "You are a skilled politician, My Princess."

"And a courteous and dutiful woman," Randyll Tarly added tartly.  He was glaring at Arya and Dickon who were telling bawdy jokes to a large gaggle of young knights and squires at the far right corner of the high table.  "It is a pity that your calming influence hasn't rubbed off on your sister."

Lady Tarly's smile fell.  "Do not speak ill of your future good daughter, Randyll," she warned her husband sharply.

"I am just commenting that Her Highness ought to behave in a manner befitting a princess and the future Lady of Horn Hill rather than a common soldier," Lord Tarly explained sourly as he eyed Arya attempting to chug down a tankard of ale in one gulp to the loud cheers of the knights surrounding her.  "His Majesty ought to exert more control over that wild girl's behavior."

The Princess Regent grinned slyly as she listened to Lord Tarly's angry words.  He appeared to be having second thoughts about the marriage between Arya and Dickon.   _He will be amenable to a betrothal between Ned and his granddaughter_ , she thought.  Sansa's astute blue eyes darted toward her sister and then back toward the Tarlys.  "My dear sister is a free spirit, My Lord.  Marriage and children will not tame her if that is your hope," she admitted.  "Perhaps we can think of a better solution to bind our families together."

"Bah," Lord Tarly growled.  "I am not going to trade a royal marriage for a Council Seat, Your Highness.  I thought I made myself clear about that the last time we spoke."

"Randyll, you promised you wouldn't make a scene," Melessa Tarly reminded her husband forcefully.

Sansa raised her right hand.  "I wasn't speaking about a Council Seat, My Lord," she stated as she eyed Arya warily at the far end of the table.  "It is a good and honorable trade that I believe will make all parties, even Princess Arya, happy."

Randyll Tarly glared at Sansa.  "Fine, Your Highness," he replied curtly.  "I will hear His Majesty out, but I expect to hear it from his own lips, not from his sister's."  The Lord of Horn Hill gave the Princess Regent a proper, albeit slightly shallow, bow, and offered his wife his right arm.  "Tell the King that I will be in the atrium of the Banqueting Hall if he wishes to speak to me," he added as he walked away.

Sansa's eyes sparkled and she smirked at her triumph.  She leaned over to her fiance.  "Politics never ends," she reminded him softly.

"Sansa, be careful with whatever schemes you are cooking up with the Tarlys," Wilhelm warned her.  "Randyll Tarly is known for his fiery temper and his prejudices.  He may react poorly to any suggestions about a marriage between the Crown Prince and the daughter of his estranged son."  He stroked her face gently.

A herald stepped into the room and the chatter of the courtiers stopped.  "Their Majesties, King Jaeherys and Queen Daenerys.  Long live the King and Queen!"

Sansa watched as Jon and Daenerys entered the Banqueting Hall.  Jon walked slightly ahead of Daenerys while Daenerys tugged gently at his red and black silk cloak.  The King appeared to be oblivious to the Queen's attempts at affection, almost numb to the world around him.  Sansa's lips pursed into a deep frown.   _I will need to speak to Jon again_ , she thought.   _Things cannot go on like this_ _._ She continued to observe the royal couple concernedly as they walked to the center of the high table and sat down.  "If you will excuse me, Wilhelm, I must consult with my brother," she whispered before purposefully striding behind the high table to the center thrones where Jon was glumly accepting the fealty of the courtiers.

The King eyed her approaching him warily and waved Lord Fossoway away from his throne.  "What you do want, Sansa?" he whispered grumpily.

"I told you to reconcile with the Queen," Sansa scolded her brother softly as she gestured toward Daenerys.

"I don't have to do as you say," Jon whispered sharply.

"You sound like Ned," the Princess Regent pointed out.  She turned toward her brother.  "It is politics, Jon.  The family needs to put up a united front."

Jon grimaced and rubbed his forehead.  "Alright, Sansa.  You've scolded me about my marriage again.  Now please leave," he insisted, slightly annoyed by her presence.  "There is a long line of lords and ladies waiting to feed me their false, sugary flattery," he said gesturing to the line of courtiers waiting to pay respects to their rulers.

Sansa ignored Jon's request and remained standing behind his throne.  "I spoke with the Tarlys about the compromise we discussed - the betrothal between Ned and their granddaughter.  Lord Tarly may be amenable to it."

"He was amenable to the marriage between Ned and Jeyne?" the King asked skeptically.

The Princess Regent shook her head.  "I did not bring up the specific details of my proposal," she admitted.  "However, he was willing to speak with you about the compromise.  Lord Tarly mentioned that he would be in the atrium."

"Being willing to speak about the compromise doesn't mean he will agree to the marriage," Jon hissed.

"It is an opening, Jon," Sansa insisted.

Jon eyed the long line of courtiers sourly.  "Fine, Sansa," he snapped, conceding her point.  "Negotiating marriage contracts with Randyll Tarly sounds like a better idea than dealing with this damn receiving line."  He rose from the table, offered Sansa his arm, and walked out of the Hall.

Sansa noticed Daenerys watching as they left the Hall, her purple eyes darkening with envy at the easy intimacy between the siblings.  The Princess Regent sighed as she observed the Queen.  The estrangement between Jon and Daenerys could pose serious political problems if it wasn't dealt with soon.  She would have to think of a more proactive way to reconcile the pair than gently encouraging Jon to forgive his wife.  However, that scheme would have to wait.  First, she had to deal with the Tarlys and clean up her sister's mess.

Jon and Sansa found Randyll Tarly in the atrium as Randyll Tarly had stated they would be.  "It is good to see you so well, Lord Tarly," Jon began.

Lord Tarly bowed shallowly.  "Dispense with the niceties, Your Grace," he growled.  "Her Highness mentioned that you have a proposal for me.  Let's hear it."

"I will let my sister explain," Jon replied coolly and gestured for Sansa to speak.

The Princess Regent pursed her lips in disapproval at her brother but soon recovered from her objections.  "His Majesty proposes to cancel the marriage contract between Princess Arya Stark and Ser Dickon Tarly and replace it with one between his own son, Crown Prince Eddard Stark, and your granddaughter, Jeyne Tarly," she stated calmly.

Lord Tarly's face reddened.  "You agree with your sister's proposal, Your Grace," he stuttered.

Jon sensed Tarly's anger, but rather than retreating, he stood tall.  "Yes, Lord Tarly," the King stated firmly.  "It is a marriage contract that every courtier is clamoring for and I am offering it to you.  Your granddaughter will one day be queen."

"You mean the half-savage daughter of my disinherited son and his Wildling slut will sit on a throne?" Randyll Tarly growled.  "I have remained a loyal vassal of the Targaryens for the past three years and yet you choose to mock me in such a manner!" he observed angrily.  "Perhaps I should withdrawal the Reach's support for your regime.  Try keeping your crown without the Reach's support."

Jon moved forward toward the Lord of Horn Hill.  He stared at Randyll Tarly in an intimidating fashion.  "You choose to speak words of treason casually in front of your king.  Under past regimes, such casual threats would warrant execution by dragon fire."

"Empty threats, Your Majesty," Tarly replied haughtily.  "You are too weak and too controlled by women to go through with such things."  He stared at the King.  "You will issue a public apology for your insult to House Tarly or I will withdrawal the Reach's support for the Crown."

"Do not test me, My Lord," the King replied dangerously.

Randyll Tarly bowed silently and turned away from Jon and Sansa.  "Either apologize or you will lose the Reach's support," he repeated loudly before walking away from the siblings. 

Sansa watched horrified as Randyll Tarly walked away angrily.  "I am sorry, Jon," she replied.  "I thought that the marriage proposal would appease Randyll Tarly."

Jon glared at his sister.  "I told you that your compromise was likely to be rejected," he snapped.  "I trusted you, Sansa, and you screwed things up more.  Fix the damn situation with the Tarlys or I will revoke your position.  I have no use for a regent who chooses to play such political games."  He stormed away from her and back into the Banqueting Hall.

Sansa crumbled on the ground and began sobbing.  She knew it was unladylike but she didn't care about courtly manners at the moment.   _If I don't find a way to fix things, I will lose everything I worked so hard for.  My family will lose everything_.

"That was not the best idea, Your Highness," a voice stated from the atrium's shadows.

Sansa looked up as Melessa Tarly walked toward her.  "My husband came back toward our table ranting about Samwell and Gilly - that 'Wildling whore' as he so artfully put it - and the King just returned to his throne with an even more sullen expression than when he left.  I thought I would come out here and find out what exactly caused the commotion," the Lady of Horn Hill explained plainly.

"I just wanted to help," the Princess Regent sniffled.  "Arya is unsuited for marriage and the compromise the King offered is more than fair.  What noble lord wouldn't wish for the granddaughter to be queen?"

"Marriage contracts must be delicately negotiated," Lady Tarly explained sternly.  "A marriage between Arya and Dickon is far from ideal, but despite your sister's wild nature, there are less personal complications with that match than with one involving my granddaughter.  You are young, Your Highness, and understand less of the world than you think you do."  Her taciturn expression melted slightly.  "Let me deal with my husband.  I am sure that I can clear up this misunderstanding," she advised before she walked away from Sansa as well.

Sansa frowned.   _Just because I am young doesn't mean that I haven't experienced the evils of the world_ , Sansa observed silently, but her manners prevented her from confronting the older woman about her gentle scolding.  Instead, she picked herself off the ground, brushed off her dress and wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, and walked back into the hall with her courtly mask firmly on her face.   _There must be a way to clear up any misunderstandings with the Tarlys and return to Jon's good graces_ , she stated as she walked back to the seat beside her fiance and plotted her next move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more controversial than I thought it would be, so I will add an explanation.
> 
> First, I'm assuming that people are upset that Jon just made some threats to Randyll Tarly rather than burning him alive by dragon fire. I've inferred on a few occasions that saying mean things about the King including to the King's face isn't enough to get people executed anymore. The Crown pledged to abide by a rudimentary constitution/ Bill of Rights which allows such things. Whether that pledge remains... well words are wind. And on a practical matter, Randyll Tarly has control of the Reach armies. I will perhaps add some words about the situation in the Reach just to clarify the politics.
> 
> Second, Sansa isn't as smart as she thinks she is. She is trained to play Court politics and to administer a castle but she doesn't understand the will of the street. Both Arya and Jon were skeptical of her proposal for a reason. A lot of tensions within this story are about internal misunderstandings.


	43. Sam III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Bran discuss alienation and dragons in the Godswood and Sam receives an unexpected visitor.

Sam had spent weeks lurking around the edges of the Royal Court - trying to avoid Jon and researching dragons.  Avoiding the King, especially since he was involved with some tiff with his wife, had been easy while researching dragons had proven fruitless.  He threw the scroll that he had been reading onto a haphazard pile in the study.  This one in ancient Valyrian describing the mating habits of dragons was useless.   _I should have never allowed Gilly to talk me into coming to King's Landing.  All there is here are petty plots and grievances_ , he thought.  Jeyne had even been dragged into the intrigue.  (Sam, however, doubted Sansa was serious about the marriage proposal.  It was likely idle chatter by women at an evening salon.)

Sam eyed the messy pile of scrolls scattered over the office of their apartments.  He sighed at the futility of his research.   _Perhaps I should take a walk in the gardens_ , he thought.   _It is better than being frustrated by these damn texts._  He got up and rushed from their sumptuous apartments and hurriedly walked toward the gardens, avoiding the whispers and stares of the courtiers as he walked through the ornate and stuffy halls of the Red Keep.

He found solace in the darkened, cool shade of the godswood.  Sam did not believe in the gods; his life had taught him that believing in the divine was foolish.  But he still appreciated the stillness that the Godswood provided - it was something that he had learned about first from Jon.  Sam worried momentarily if he would run into his friend in the quiet Godswood.  He did not want to have to deal with another awkward encounter with the King.  Instead, he encountered a solitary figure dressed in black sitting in a wheeled chair, Ghost lying serenely at his side.  "Hello, Bran," Sam said confused by the young man's presence.  "I wasn't aware that you were even in King's Landing."

Bran nudged his chair forward slightly as Ghost stirred, his white ears perking up.  "I came to King's Landing with Sansa and the Northern delegation," he explained softly.  "I just try to avoid the Court as much as possible.  I hate political games - that is Sansa's world.  My world is elsewhere."  He patted one of the trees.  "Or was elsewhere," the Stark prince added ruefully.

"Are you still having visions?" Sam asked hopefully as he walked toward Bran's solitary figure in the midst of the shadows.  Perhaps Bran would be able to figure out why the Citadel was so interested in dragons.

Bran looked at Sam sadly.  "Only occasionally since then and I have trouble controlling the ones that I have."

"Then, why are you in the Godswood?" the acolyte inquired.

Bran shrugged slightly and rubbed Ghost's neck.  "It is nice here - quiet.  It is a good place to think," he replied.  "I told Jon that he ought to come here more often.  Perhaps, he would feel less angry and homesick if he did.  Jon said that was impossible - something about how it would be imprudent for a king to favor the old gods over the Seven."

Sam nodded slowly.  He had once been jealous of his old friend, but now he felt nothing but pity for him.  Jon had given up everything - his family, his identity, and even his gods - for a crown he hated.  Sam wished he could help his friend, at least provide him with solace, but that was impossible.  A disinherited son with a Wildling wife would be spurned by the Court.   _I would only cause Jon more problems than he already has_ , he thought solemnly.   _The only thing that I can do to help him is perhaps to figure out why the Citadel wants to destroy the dragons._   Sam eyed the young seer underneath the darkened trees.  "Could you try to peer into the past once more?" he asked Bran cautiously.  "See if there is another vision - one with dragons."

"Why?" Bran asked confused by the sudden request.

"Archmaester Marwyn is up to no good.  I think that he wants to destroy the Queen's dragons," Sam explained.  "I tried to figure out what the Citadel is doing by myself, but I am at a loss."

"Have you told Jon about your suspicions?" Bran asked.

"Not really.  Only a little," Sam admitted guiltily.  "I cannot bother Jon with such things if I don't have proof."

The Stark prince's lips pursed into a frown.  "You should have told Jon about your suspicions.  You should not remain estranged from your friend over things as silly as titles and family," he scolded.  However, Bran, despite his disapproval, wheeled his chair up to the weirwood tree and pressed his hands again it.  He mumbled something unintelligible - a desperate prayer to the old gods perhaps.

Sam shifted uncomfortably as he observed the young man silently grasping the tree.  Nothing appeared to be happening.   _This is futile_ , he told himself hopelessly.  He continued to pace impatiently as he waited for Bran to complete his prayers and confirm his suspicions.

Suddenly, Bran groaned loudly and collapsed from his chair.  He convulsed on the ground as Ghost barked loudly and Sam rushed toward him.

"Bran, what is wrong!" Sam yelled as he attempted to take the young man's pulse.

Bran's body went still for a moment as Sam tried to stabilize him.  Then, he sat up with a jolt, coughing a bit as he dragged himself up with his arms.  "Did you see that!" the young man asked Sam frantically.

"See what!" Sam exclaimed as he helped the young man into his chair.

Bran gasped again as he shrugged back into his chair with his grey eyes closed.  "The flash of light.  The erupting volcano with dragons flying around- Valyria.  The horn being blown," he replied in a trancelike monotone.  "Especially the horn."  The Stark prince coughed again and fully awoke from his trance.  He slumped in his chair exhausted from his vision.  "We must tell Jon about the horn," he insisted frantically as he gasped for air.

Sam grasped Bran's arm gently.  "I will speak with Jon, Bran," he insisted.  "You need to rest."  He looked at the young man kindly.  "Will you let me take you home?"

Bran gave a small nod and reclined in his chair.

Sam began wheeling him back to the Red Keep tailed by Ghost.  He waved down some guards to assist them as they got into the main gardens.

"What the gods happened!" the captain screamed as he stared at Bran's ashen face concerned.

"It is okay," Bran whispered.  "I just had a vision."

The soldier looked at the Stark prince incredulously.  "Right, Your Highness," he replied.  "It seems that you have had enough excitement for today.  I'd hate to have to inform the King that you're ill...  What with everything that is happening."

Bran nodded slightly and slipped into a trancelike state as the captain motioned for his men to carry Bran back into the Red Keep trailed by Ghost.  Sam followed them hesitatingly until one of the guards prevented him from going any further.  "His Royal Highness only," the man ordered sharply.  "I have no idea who you are."

"Samwell Tarly," Sam stated meekly.  "I need to talk with the King about something urgent."  He gestured toward Bran who was slipping in and out of his trancelike state.  "It has something to do with His Highness's vision."

"Ah, having to speak with the King about his brother's visions," the soldier observed cynically.  "That is one I haven't heard before."

"It is important!" acolyte yelled.

"Every courtier has important business before the King," the guard replied tartly.  "If yours is really that important, Prince Brandon will tell His Grace once he wakes from this 'spell.'  Otherwise, you will need to petition Their Majesties through the proper channels."

"But..." Sam began to protest.

"No exceptions!" the captain growled and nodded for his men to continue carrying Bran inside the palace.

Sam watched dejectedly as they carried his half-conscious friend away followed by Ghost.   _Perhaps I should follow them and insist on speaking with Jon_ , he thought.  He began to follow the soldiers, but in the end, he hesitated and walked toward his apartments instead.   _I shouldn't make such a scene.  Not here where my father can use such an outburst against me._ It was best for all if he stayed as far away from the Court, from his father, even from Jon.   _I will figure out what Bran's cryptic vision about dragons and a horn means and return home with my family._   There was nothing but old prejudices and new self-serving games in King's Landing and he needed to protect Gilly and his children from all that.

However, old prejudices and new self-serving games, especially those involving family, had a way of ensnaring even the most unwitting accomplices as Sam discovered when he returned to his family's rooms.  His mother was sitting in the messy living room in the midst of his discarded scrolls.  "Samwell, I know you have been trying to avoid the family, but I must speak with you urgently about the marriage proposal.  I doubt you were the one who suggested it, but you ought to have known that your father would see such an engagement as an insult," his mother stated sternly as she rose from a settee to greet him.

Sam stared at his mother confused.  "What engagement, Mother?"

"Between your daughter and the Crown Prince," his mother pointed out.

"That was idle chatter by Princess Sansa at a fancy soiree.  I reassured Gilly that that was all it was," he groaned.

"The King and the Princess Regent proposed the match as a substitute for the marriage between Princess Arya and Dickon last night," his mother replied.

"Neither Gilly nor I consented to such an arrangement," Sam grumbled.  "I will not sell my daughter like that."

His mother smiled slightly.  "I doubt that you would consent, Samwell," she replied.  "It was definitely Princess Sansa's initiative."  She motioned for him to come next to her and squeezed his right hand slightly.  "Even so, you must leave the Court soon.  Your father is on the warpath."  She paused and looked out the window.  "I am not even sure why you came with Gilly.  Your place is at the Citadel, not here."

Sam shook his head.  "There are dangers lurking for Jon... I mean the Crown.  I must figure out what the Citadel is up to."

"Their Graces need the Reach's army more than they need your knowledge, Samwell," his mother reminded him cautiously as she turned away from the window and released his hand.  "The only way I can assure the Reach's continued loyalty is if you leave and return to Oldtown."

Sam glared at his mother.  "No Mother," he replied firmly.  "I don't care how humiliated Father is.  I won't be running away with a tail between my leg.  Jon needs me and I will help him somehow."  He stood tall to show his mother that he wasn't backing down.

Melessa Tarly nodded.  She seemed pleased with his newfound confidence.  "Perhaps your father will just need to get over humiliation," she observed knowingly.  She gave him a peck on the cheek and turned to leave.  "It was nice to speak with you, Samwell.  It has been quite a while," she stated as she left the room.  "Next time I visit I would like to see my grandchildren," she added as she walked from the room.

Sam nodded slightly as his face turned white and his courage drained from him.  He dropped into a nearby chair with his hands in his head.   _What have I done_ , he thought.   _I may have just caused Jon to lose the Reach's armies._ He picked up a discarded scroll and began perusing it.   _At the very least, Father will be angry and I will need to confront him._ He dropped the parchment and gulped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Bran is fine. Bran is a hard character for me to write because of the supernatural element (the same with the dragons and direwolves). I am going with Bran lost control of his visions after the White Walkers are defeated and it is becoming more taxing for him to have them. I will add more in an upcoming chapter.


	44. Arya VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Dickon fight about his father

Arya hid amid the top branches of one of the lemon trees that framed the ornate inner gardens of the Red Keep.  She retained the ability to hide and observe things without being noticed, a skill that had served her quite well in the viper pit of the Court.  Dickon was late again and she preferred hiding in the trees to waiting for him near the practice yards where she was likely to be swarmed by courtiers with their false flattery and petitions for Jon.  There was only so much bullshit that Arya could deal with and she had had enough of the vapid yammering of courtiers for the week.

The Mistress of War and Ships smiled as she observed the hustle and bustle below her and observed the intrigue and scandal swirling below.  There was so much to learn by just watching silently.  She kept telling Sansa that her glittery soirees were unnecessary, that the best way to keep tabs on the Royal Court was to just observe and listen.  Of course, Sansa had dismissed her advice every time Arya had brought it up.  Her sister tended to dismiss her advice on everything- the politics of the Court ( even though she, not Sansa, served on the Small Council), the state of Jon's marriage (unfortunately her brother and the high-strung Dragon would be back to fucking like rabbits in a few weeks at most), and especially the Tarlys.  The last one rather than annoying Arya had provided her with some much-needed entertainment.  She had had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing when Sansa had marched back to the high table the night prior, her face red with shame, and glared at Arya angrily.  Arya had just stared back at her sister neutrally while inside she was smiling triumphantly.  She had told Sansa that Randyll Tarly was a bigot who would be offended by her marriage proposal, but her sister had chosen to ignore the advice and had fallen flat on her face because of it.  Of course, Arya knew her schadenfreude was petty, but she was enjoying it nonetheless.   _With Jon temporarily_ _estranged from Daenerys and angry with Sansa, he will turn to me for advice now_ , she thought.  That was as it always should be - Arya and Jon together against the world that despised them.

Arya scanned the bustling gardens, her eyes resting on the muscular, sandy-haired Dickon Tarly.   _It is time to get to work protecting Jon_ , she thought as she stared at her current lover.  She slipped down from the tree and crept toward the knight's position, wrapping her arms around Dickon when she reached him.  "Hello, Sweetie," she purred seductively and gave the knight a kiss on the cheek.

Dickon looked at her startled.  "Arya, how did you suddenly appear?"

"Magic!" she teased removing her arms from his waist.

Dickon sighed.  "Why did you startle me in such a matter?"

"Because I could," Arya replied evenly.  "A brave warrior like yourself should be able to take it."

The knight's shocked face melted into a large smile and he kissed her firmly on the lips.  "We were going to sword fight," he replied motioning toward the Practice Yards.

"I plan on sword fighting in more than one way this afternoon," Arya replied saucily, grabbing Dickon's right hand and leading him toward the rings.

"Arya! Arya!" a high pitched voiced squeaked before they reached the Practice Yards.

Arya smiled at her nephew toddled toward her followed by his little friends, Sammy and Jeyne, and one of his nurses.  She enveloped Ned in her arms and picked him up easily.  "Hiya, Squirt," she said as she gave him a kiss on the forehead.

"Are you going to play swords, Arya?" Ned asked happily.  "I wanna to play swords as well!  Sammy and I will protect you and Jeyne like brave knights."

Arya swung Ned around, causing the prince to laugh heartily.  "Girls can fight too," she reminded him gently.  "Perhaps Jeyne and I will protect you."

Ned wrinkled his nose at this observation.  "Next you will say that Rhae can play swords too," he replied.  "She can't even walk!"

"Rhae is still a baby," Arya explained to her nephew, mussing his black curly hair as she spoke.  "When she is big like you, she will be able to practice sword fighting as well."

The Crown Prince contemplated this silently as Arya placed him on the ground.  He appeared to be skeptical of her explanation about Rhae but was soon distracted by the unfamiliar Dickon.  "Who are you?" Ned asked curiously as he walked up to Tarly scion.

Dickon fidgeted uncomfortably.  "Dickon Tarly, Your Highness," he replied formally with a small bow.  The knight then warily eyed the Tarly children.  "Perhaps we should leave, Arya."

Arya glanced at Dickon and then at Sammy and Jeyne.  Sammy was staring at his uncle nervously while squeezing his sister's right hand protectively.  "No," she ordered as she continued to observe the estranged family members.

"I said that we should leave now, Arya," Dickon snapped.

Arya glared at him.  "I will remind you, Ser, that I am the King's sister.  We will leave when I say, not you."

Dickon's face grew beet red.  "I will not remain in the presence of those Wildling children," he growled as he motioned toward Sammy and Jeyne.

Ned looked at Arya.  The prince appeared confused by the red-faced Dickon and his nervous friends.  "What is a Wildling?" he asked her, rebuffing his nurse's gentle attempts to guide him away from the scene.

"Those are mean words," Arya explained calmly to her nephew as she watched her angry lover out of the side of her eye.  "Ser Dickon was just going to apologize to Sammy and Jeyne for his rudeness, Ned."

"I won't apologize to the likes of them," Dickon replied defiantly.

Arya motioned for Ned to go to his nurse and walked toward the angry knight.  She pinched his right arm roughly.  "They are your niece and nephew, Dickon!" she stated angrily.

"They are not my family!  Father said our family should not have anything to do with Sam's savage wife and half-breed children!" Dickon snapped, his face growing redder, as he gestured wildly toward Sam and Jeyne.

"If you feel that way, perhaps you should leave now," Arya ordered coolly.  Her dangerous grey eyes stared directly at Dickon and she pinched him on the right arm again with even more force.  "I thought you were better than your family, Dickon," she yelled as she twisted his arm behind his back, "but you are as much of a disgusting bigot as your father."

Dickon turned away from her aghast.  "You cannot order me to leave like that, Arya.  You are my intended."

Arya glared at the Tarly knight.  She wanted to give him a deserving beatdown and to taunt him about how she never intended to marry him and was only seducing him to protect her family.  But she glanced back at Ned, Sammy, and Jeyne and decided that the children shouldn't have to witness such an outburst.  "The King said any marriage between us was contingent on your good behavior.  You lost any hope of me consenting to any such match with your outburst right now," she replied icily instead.  She pursed her lips into a stern frown.  "Jon will respect my decision on this.  I doubt that he will take kindly to your insulting his best friend's family."

A crowd had gathered to watch the scene unfolding in front of them.  Dickon's face turned an even brighter shade of red as he stared at the whispering lords and ladies.  "Fine, Your Highness," he spat out.  "I will leave, but once my father hears of this he will withdrawal our family's support for the Crown.  Without the Reach's troops, I doubt your weakling brother will be able to keep his crown."

"Don't be so sure, Ser Dickon!" Arya called after the humiliated knight as he stormed back to the Red Keep.  "Aegon the Conqueror incinerated the Reach's armies with his dragons.  Perhaps the King will do the same to your father's!"  She smiled triumphantly as the crowd gathered around her laughed and whispered.  It was probably a horrible idea to humiliate Dickon Tarly in such a public manner.  In fact, Arya was sure that Lord Tyrion would use the incident to score points against her with the Queen.  However, she was just tired of all the games and lies.  Why was she selling her soul again?  To obtain riches and glories and power that she could care less about?  To attain a position that she knew she would hate?  To protect her brother's crown, the one that he openly despised?  She had played their games and lived a life of lies for years as the person she really was, the Arya Stark she hoped would make her father proud, slipped farther and farther away from her.  She was losing her soul piece by piece and was watching as her family, Sansa, Jon, and even Bran, lost theirs as well.  None of this mattered, only home and family mattered.  The Starks were a pack and they belonged in Winterfell, not here in this sweltering, putrid city.  She thought of Winterfell and its hot springs and summer snows and godswood.  That is where her family belonged - Arya, Bran, Sansa, Jon, and Little Ned and his baby sister, Rhae.  Even Daenerys belonged to the North now (although it annoyed Arya greatly to have to include the high strung Targaryen as family.)  The Starks were meant to be in the North, in Winterfell.  They were meant to be there - all of them together.  However, before that could happen, Arya had to prevent Littlefinger from killing her family.  She could care less about Petyr Baelish's stupid appointment to the Iron Bank, about his damn paper shield.  She would resolve this her way.

Ned wriggled out of his nurse's grasp.  "Aunt Arya, what is wrong?" the little prince asked solemnly.

Arya crouched down on the ground and grabbed her nephew in a bear hug.  "I need to do some things to help your papa," she told Ned.  She gave the Crown Prince a kiss on the forehead.  "I need you to tell your papa that I am alright and that I am going home.  He will know what that means."

Her nephew sniffled.  "You cannot go, Arya!" he insisted.  "I will miss you."

"I will see you again, Squirt, at Winterfell, where we all belong," she insisted.  She smiled slightly.  "Now run along with your friends, Ned, and give your papa my message."

Ned grabbed his nurse's arm and walked away with Sammy and Jeyne.   He glanced back surreptitiously at Arya as he walked toward the Red Keep.

Arya waved at her nephew and grabbed her trusty Needle.  She would vanquish the Starks' enemies her way instead of playing the Court's stupid games and then she would return to her home.  She glanced once more at the lords and ladies gathered around her, nodded to them, and then walked out of the Red Keep, leaving the Court and its games behind her.


	45. Petyr VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr encourages Gendry to speak against the Crown and the nobles. A fire mysteriously starts in Flea Bottom.

'"Our current rulers insist they care about the commonfolk.  They created the Crown Council for the people to have a say in governing Westeros.  But last I checked there were no commoners on their fancy Council - only a bunch of preening and overdressed nobles," Gendry stated sarcastically to the roars of the good size crowd that had stopped to listen to him speak at the far end of the docks. The blacksmith stopped and gestured to the Red Keep.  "The Crown Council is just another excuse for them to hold their fancy parties and spend more time disdaining the likes of us."

Petyr watched the young man from a nearby alleyway.  He had to admit that Gendry was a good speaker.  The blacksmith had inherited his father's charisma.  He looked quite like Robert Baratheon did back in the days of the Rebellion before his crown had turned Robert into a bitter drunk.   _And the boy is less whiny and entitled than Aegon_ , Petyr thought approvingly.   _Although I do wish he would stop yammering on about the rich and powerful stealing from the poor, the whole point is to seize power, not create a fantasy utopia where rulers care about the poor._

"So what are we supposed to do about this, Gendry?" a heckler from the crowd asked.  "The fancy lords ain't going to give up their castles and power!"

"We can petition the Crown as is our right!  We can refuse to serve the lords if they don't listen to our demands!" Gendry replied passionately.  "The fancy lords wouldn't last very long if they had to sew their own clothes, plow their own fields, and forge their own blades."

 _Oh, gods, the boy is a naive idealist_ , Petyr observed cynically as he continued to watch Gendry.  _Yes, just ask the Targaryen tyrants to hear your demands and add pretty please to the end of it.  And then organize a boycott when that fails.  That will bring nobles who have slaughtered hundreds of serfs to their knees_.

The crowd appeared to agree with Petyr's assessment of the situation.  There were loud guffaws and jeers at Gendry's suggested course of action.  "Yes, we will just refuse to plow the fields and the Crown will accede to our demands," a gruff voice sarcastically observed.  "The Targaryen tyrants will just use violence to force us to kneel.  Daenerys Targaryen will order her dragons to burn down the rest of Flea Bottom - the parts she missed the first time."

Gendry stared at the crowd.  "Something ought to be done," he replied cautiously.  "We've starved and bled due to the nobles' greed!  We are still suffering from the effects of the Great War while they live in luxury!"

"The only way forward is violence!  We must overthrow the Targaryens and murder all the nobles!" a drunk in the crowd slurred loudly.  The man's comments were met with cheers.

"I...  I don't want that," Gendry insisted, trying to calm the crowd.  "There must be a way to make things better that doesn't involve more death and bloodshed."

The unruly crowd quieted down slightly at the blacksmith's pronouncement, but the air remained tense and dangerous.  The spectators argued in hushed murmurs about what to do next.  A few thugs on the edges of the crowd began moving toward the makeshift dais where Gendry was standing.  Petyr groaned and nodded to two of the hired sellswords who had accompanied them to grab the blacksmith and pull him back to safety.  _I should just leave the naive fool in the midst of the dangerous mob and let him deal with their anger_ , he thought as he watched the beefy bodyguards grab Gendry by his shoulders and hurry him back to the safety of the darkened alley.  _Stupid boy.  He is lucky that he is an important pawn in my schemes otherwise he would be as good as dead right now_.  Petyr hated stupidity but he was always very careful with his investments - at least until they played their intended roles and he could discard them.

"Why did you do that!" Gendry asked angrily as he pushed the sellswords away from him.  "Now everyone will think that I'm craven!"

Petyr sighed and began walking back to the rented manse nearby followed closely by Gendry and the hired guards.  "It was quite a dangerous situation, Sir," he replied calmly as he walked.  "There were men waiting to instigate violence creeping around the edges of the crowd.  You would have been killed by the mob or arrested for instigating a riot if I hadn't intervened when I did."

Gendry's anger abated and he paused to contemplate what Petyr had told him.  "Were they the Spymaster's informants?" the blacksmith asked quietly.

"Most likely," Petyr replied as he began walking again.  "You were arguing in favor of overthrowing the current regime after all."

"I was arguing no such thing," Gendry explained forcefully.  "I just want for things to be better.  Nothing has changed except the name of the family wearing the crowns.  The high lords continue to grow rich off the labors of the commoners and to play their damn political games at our expense."  The blacksmith bit his lip as he spoke.  "I just want the King and Queen to be held to account for the fancy words they are always yammering about.  A piece of paper and a few schools and clinics ain't breaking no wheel.  The Targaryens seem more than content for things to continue as long as they remain the ones on top."

"They are royalty," Petyr reminded the blacksmith sharply.  "Kings and queens will never keep their word.  That is why they are kings and queens."  He rolled his eyes at the boy's continued naive statements.  "I thought you were a realist, Gendry.  That is why I agreed to help you."  Petyr stopped and grabbed Gendry's right arm, causing the boy to stumble.  "I warn you, sir, that I have little patience for naive idealism."

Gendry stepped back, intimidated by Petyr's words for a second.  However, the young man soon recovered his courage.  "I said no violence, no deaths, and no rebellion.  I was clear about what I refused to do many times, Lord Baelish."

Petyr glared at the blacksmith.  "You were, sir, but I told you that your conditions may be impossible.  When you play the Game of Thrones, you win or you die."

"I have no desire to be king, Lord Baelish," Gendry snapped.  "It sounds like a horrible job.  All I want is for everything to be fairer - and to marry the woman I love."

"Blacksmiths don't marry princesses, Gendry," Petyr reminded the young man.  "Kings do."

Gendry frowned and turned to walk away.  "I have to get back to my forge," he stated curtly.  "Some of us actually have to work for a living."

Petyr forced himself to give the young man a small, indulgent smile.  "Of course, Gendry.  I wouldn't want to keep you from your work," he replied oily.  "Please think about what I've told you.  You are a smart young man; I'm sure you will come to understand that what I propose is the only way for you to get what you want."  Petyr motioned for a few of the sellswords to leave with the blacksmith.  "And take a few of the sellswords with you back to your forge.  I'd hate for you to be harmed by the Crown's goons."

Gendry rolled his eyes and shoved one of the guards away from him.  "I have no need for such protection," he snapped.  "I won't have your hired muscle spying on me," he added before storming away from Petyr.

Petyr sighed and watched as Gendry left.  Persuading the boy was proving more challenging than he had first realized.  The blacksmith was clearly angry at the system that had given Jaeherys Targaryen a crown based on a flimsy piece of paper while he remained an illiterate blacksmith.  Gendry could never marry the woman he loved because of the same unfair system, something Petyr almost sympathized with.   _He will soon understand that my proposal is the only way_ , he observed as he walked to his rented rooms.   _Love outweighs any concerns about stupid morals._   Petyr sighed and thought about the woman he himself had lost.   _Yes, Gendry will come over to my way of thinking eventually._ However, Petyr Baelish was still annoyed that it was taking so long for the blacksmith to accept simple reasoning.  _Damn morals.  Why does anyone follow something so arbitrary?_

As he contemplated the best way to deal with Gendry Waters, Petyr was greeted by a completely different headache.  Aegon was pacing the front parlor, his face red with rage.  "You were with that peasant, weren't you?  The usurper's bastard?" he yelled.  The Targaryen paused and grabbed Petyr's right arm roughly.  "I am your king and you continue to openly defy me in such a manner!  I should have your head!"

Petyr stared calmly at Aegon.  "I explained numerous times that Gendry Waters could be a valuable ally to us," he growled.

The Targaryen scion glared at him.  "He is a rival.  The Iron Bank means to put him on the throne, not me," Aegon snapped, "and you mean to help them."

Petyr smiled indulgently at Aegon.  "Of course, the Iron Bank would not be stupid enough to waste its money backing a baseborn, illiterate blacksmith for king regardless of who his father was," he reassured the Targaryen brat smoothly.  "You are the legitimate heir to the Iron Throne, My King."  He turned toward Aegon, his eyes lowered in a submissive stance.  "Besides, Gendry spends quite a bit of time whining about how the rich and powerful oppress the poor.  Wealthy Braavosi bankers despise such rhetoric."

Aegon calmed down, appeased by Petyr's obeisant flattery.  "I will forgive your trespasses this time, Lord Baelish," he replied haughtily.  "However, your near constant disobedience toward me must stop."  He walked toward the banker.  "I will be the one directing the scheming going forward, not you, and I say we act now!  Burn down the Red Keep!  Assassinate my treasonous half-brother and aunt!  Something!  Anything!  I am king and I am tired of waiting!"

Petyr continued to stare at the angry Targaryen scion calmly.  Tywin Lannister always said that 'A man who must say that he is king is no true king.'  And so it was with Aegon Targaryen - he was no true king.  _But perhaps I can play Aegon against Gendry - one pawn against another_ , he thought, a brilliant idea popping into his head.  Petyr turned away from Aegon and toward the window.  "I would generally advise caution, Your Grace, but perhaps you are right that we need to be more proactive," he lied to the Targaryen brat, "even the Tycho has suggested as much."  (Of course, Tycho suggested no such thing, something that Aegon would have been aware of if he had read the damn letters from Braavos.)  Petyr gestured toward the docks.  "I overheard some sailors discussing grain harvests from the Reach.  Some are being stored at the docks.  It would be a pity if the stores were destroyed.  There would be food shortages this winter- and it will all be blamed on the Crown," he added, his eyes furtively suggesting the course of action that he thought Aegon should take.

Aegon glared at Petyr once more and stormed out of the front parlor.

Petyr sighed and began reading the scrolls that had piled up on his desk.  There was so much that remained up in the air - the solution to tame the dragons and continued support from the Iron Bank.  He eyed the parchment; it was from his main contact in the Citadel.  Petyr's neutral face turned to a wide smile as he read his contact's distinct scribble.  Perhaps his plans were coming together finally.  Patience was key in these plots after all.

"My Lord Baelish," one of his hired guards came running into the parlor.  "There has been a fire at the main docks and Flea Bottom has erupted into riots."  The man looked at Petyr frantically.

Petyr glanced at the window and then went back to his letter, a carefully cultivated bored look on his face.  "We are far enough away from the docks that we shouldn't be impacted by such mayhem," he replied testily, trying to appear annoyed by the guard's words while secretly enjoying the sight of the flames rising over the docks.

"I am concerned for His Grace's safety.  The King was walking toward the main harbor just an hour ago," the sellsword stated concerned by Aegon's whereabouts.

"I am sure that King Aegon is just fine," Petyr replied calmly.  "Now if that is all, I have important correspondence to attend to," he added motioning for the guard to leave the parlor.

 _Aegon is such a fool_ , Petyr thought as he watched the flames from the window.  He sat down at a writing table, dipped a quill in ink, and began writing to his old colleague in Braavos.

 

 

 

> _To Tycho Nestoris. Esq._
> 
> _Dear Lord Nestoris:_
> 
> _There is need for me to remain in King's Landing for the time being.  A few incidents have occurred recently that have adversely affected the Bank's considerable investments here.  I feel it wise for a representative of the Bank to remain in Westeros to personally oversee the any reconstruction._
> 
> _No further funds are needed, but I do require an specific horn named Dragonbinder.  It is an old relic of little value in the Iron Bank's vault, but I believe it may help in my current efforts.  Please send the horn post haste via courier._
> 
> _Your obedient servant,_
> 
> _Petyr Baelish, Esq._

Petyr Baelish rolled up the parchment and pressed a wax seal on it.  He went back to the window and watched the swirl of flames and shouts of chaos with delight.   _The Crown against the commoners.  The North against the South.  The Tarlys against the Targaryens and Starks.  Even the Targaryens and Starks against each other.  I will exploit all their petty grievances and arguments as I always have and I will win as I always have_ , he thought.  Petyr Baelish imagined himself on the Throne with Sansa by his side as he continued to watch the chaos out the window.   _Yes, I will win_ , he reminded himself as a broad grin grew on his face.


	46. Jon VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon reacts to the tumult around him

Jon leaned against the window in Bran's room as he listened to Varys recite the latest intelligence.  Bran seemed to be recovering from his seizure although he was still unconscious. That was the only good news that Jon had received during the past day.  Randyll Tarly and his family had left for Horn Hill that morning and on top of that, Arya was nowhere to be found.  He rubbed his forehead as he looked out the window at the darkened gardens below.  "Can you please explain exactly what occurred between my sister and Dickon Tarly again?" he grumbled.

"Your Grace... Jon," Varys began carefully.  "Lady Arya ridiculed Ser Dickon in front of a large number of courtiers.  The impetus for her taunts was Samwell Tarly's children.  Ser Dickon called them Wildlings."

"Aye," Jon stated coolly.  "He called little children disgusting slurs."  His face grew red.  "I told Dickon Tarly that he was on shaky ground with me after he was caught dueling with Gendry Waters in the streets."  The King turned away from the window and toward Varys.  "He chose to abuse my indulgence toward him.  I won't give my blessing for Arya to marry such a bigot."

"You are prepared to lose the Reach over this incident, My King?" Tyrion asked as he walked into the room.  "Your crown depends on the loyalty of the Reach troops."

Jon glared at Tyrion.  He didn't particularly wish to speak with his current Hand, especially not after all the problems that Tyrion himself had recently caused to protect his own power.  "Yes, if I play political games, if I excuse the behavior of men like Randyll Tarly, I can continue to wear a crown I despise and preside over a den of treacherous nobles in a city I hate," he observed sarcastically.  "The only reason why I am willing to rule is so I can build a new world and so I can protect my family.  I won't rule has a hypocrite or a tyrant.  I won't cling to power for power's sake."

" _Your Grace_ , it may be impossible to rule as an enlightened king and to protect your family.  Even you yourself realize that truth in your heart of hearts," Tyrion replied, emphasizing Jon's title as was his wont when he wanted to remind Jon of his kingship.  "Ruthlessness may be the only way to keep your family safe."

"Aye, I should take lessons in ruthlessness from you, Tyrion," Jon growled.  "You have spent the last few weeks conspiring to break up my marriage to protect your position as Hand."  The King walked away from the window near Bran's bedside and toward the doorway where Tyrion was standing.

"All I did was inform you about the Queen's plots, Your Grace," Tyrion replied in a practiced tone of faux outrage.  "Does the King not wish his servants to be fully truthful with him?  Would he prefer that we lie to him instead?"

"Aye, you only wish to be truthful, My Lord Hand," Jon stated angrily.  "That is why you were plotting with Lady Mormont to annul my marriage as well."

Tyrion shot a nasty look at Varys over Jon's revelation of his machinations with the Northern lords.

"Varys didn't tattle on you, Tyrion," Jon snapped.  "I have other ways of finding out about the intrigue in the Court.  It's one of the few perks that comes with being king."

Tyrion shifted his body slightly and stared directly at Jon.  "I was discussing possible solutions to the tensions and political unrest with one of your valued vassals," he explained calmly.  "An annulment will give you what you want, Jon.  It will give you the freedom to return to Winterfell."

Jon grabbed Tyrion's right sleeve roughly.  "Ned and Rhae will become bastards if an annulment is granted.  I will not have my children sullied in such a manner.  I will not abandon my family.  I am not Rhaegar," he growled.

Tyrion stared at Jon as he shrugged off the King's hand and moved away from him.  "Yes, the noble Jaeherys Targaryen would prefer martyrdom to a sensible solution, especially if it allows him to remind everyone of the great sacrifices he has made on a daily basis," the Crown's Hand replied snidely.

"Shut up, Tyrion," Jon yelled.  "You know why I agreed to replace you with Arya - your damn insolence.  You will remember that I am king, not you, My Lord."

"Your sister has vanished to gods know where," Tyrion remarked defiantly.  "At least I am still here advising you, Your Majesty."

Jon grunted and pushed Tyrion up against the hallway wall.  "I should execute you for treason.  Your father would have done so ages ago."

"Silence, both of you," a voice ordered.  "We have a serious problem."  Varys slowly held up a parchment.  "I just received this parchment, My King... Jon.  There has been a fire in Flea Bottom that has destroyed the newest grain stores from the Reach.  There are riots in the lower city," he stated calmly.  "The city has descended into destruction and chaos while you two have been fighting over such petty things," he added disgustedly.

Jon's face paled.  He dropped Tyrion and collapsed to the ground.   _Arya.  Bran.  Sansa.  Dany and my children.  Their lives truly are in danger.  I may not be able to protect them,_ he thought as he sat on the cool stone floor and processed the latest spate of bad news.  He felt as hopeless as he had during the Great War three years ago - even moreso perhaps because at least then the enemy was an easily defined supernatural force.  Now it wasn't a clear battle between good and evil, black and white.  Now he had to rule people justly and mercifully with all their complexities and idiosyncrasies.  There was no comfort of easy answers or well-defined enemies; there was only a whole lot of grey and ambiguity.  The only thing that Jon knew for certain was that his family was in danger and that he had no idea how to protect them.  Fighting death itself was so much easier than ruling over people.

"Your Grace... Jon.  What are your orders?" Tyrion asked as he picked himself off the ground.  He backed away from Jon's hunched figure and eyed the King warily.

Jon picked himself off the ground.  He stood up straight, his king face firmly on.  He thought of all the people conspiring to harm his family.  Perhaps Tyrion was right.  Ruthlessness was the only thing that would protect his family.  Jon's eyes narrowed dangerously as he surveyed the small gaggle of guards and servants who have gathered with curiosity.  "Has the City Watch put out the fires?" Jon asked.

"Yes, My King," one of the guards mentioned.  "But there is still rioting on the streets," he added.

"Order everyone off the streets," the King stated calmly.  "Arrest those who refuse to comply.  Use lethal force if necessary."  He paused and leaned against the hallway wall.   "And suspend the Charter," he added quietly.

"Your Grace?" Tyrion asked shocked.  "We've spent three years striving for this goal and now you want to tear up all our hard work with one decree?"

"It's your damn Charter, Lord Tyrion," Jon growled, fully regaining his composure.  "As always this is all about you.  Everything is centered on you, isn't it!"

Varys eyed Jon cautiously.  "Your Grace, perhaps it isn't the wisest decision.  Let the City Guard put down the rioting.  Maybe everything will calm down by sunrise tomorrow."

The King paused and leaned against the palace wall.  He was so tired - tired of having the weight of the world on his shoulders, tired of trying to balance the demands of ruling with the demands of protecting his family, tired of being at constant odds with the people who he loved the most.  Jon wanted nothing more than to give up his crown and return to Winterfell with his family, the only place where everything made sense.  However, he was beginning to realize that that peace would never be afforded him.  The Crown of Westeros was his burden to bear, a punishment given to him by the gods for reasons of which Jon was still unaware.  The only way for his family, his babies to be protected was for him to be ruthless.  Jon Snow had to finally die and Jaeherys Targaryen had to take his place.  The King glared at the Spymaster.  "Lord Varys, that is a decree from your king," he ordered solemnly.  "I, Jaeherys Targaryen, decree that the Great Charter and the Crown Council are suspended due to security concerns.  The Crown will revisit this decree once tensions have ceased."

Tyrion eyed the King.  "Your Majesty, I will agree with Lord Varys," he stated carefully.  "It seems unwise to resort to drastic measures.  Wait until things calm down before you act."

The King rubbed his forehead.  "No, Lord Tyrion, my ruling stands," he stated firmly.  "I have tried to rule Westeros as a benevolent monarch.  I have tried to put the needs of my people first.  In return, they've condemned me as a tyrant, rioted against my rule, and threatened my family."  He paused and frowned.  "Fine.  If they want a Targaryen tyrant, I will give them a Targaryen tyrant.  I will rule with Fire and Blood," he added ominously.

"Don't, Your Grace," the Crown's Hand ordered frantically.  "That is not what I meant by ruthlessness.  I did not mean you should become your grandfather."

The King glared at the Tyrion.  "I am tired of your defiance, Lord Tyrion," he snapped.  "I am tired of your plots."  He motioned for two of the guards watching the scene silently to move near Tyrion.  "Because of your service to the Crown, I will give you one chance to apologize.  I warn you that this is your last chance, My Lord."

Tyrion stood up straight.  "I will not apologize, Your Grace.  I have done nothing wrong," he replied defiantly.

"Fine," the King stated.  He motioned for the guards close to Tyrion to grab his arms.  "Arrest this man for high treason and throw him in the Black Cells.  I will deal with an appropriate sentence for his treason once the rioting in Flea Bottom has been quashed."

The soldiers dragged Tyrion away.  To his credit, the Crown's Hand didn't plead with Jon for mercy or try to flee the guards.  Tyrion's experience in government had taught him that such gestures were futile.  Tyrion was likely plotting to wriggle out of his fate.   _However, I will be ready to counter any games and plots_ , Jon thought as he watched Tyrion be carted away to the Red Keep's dungeons.  He turned away from the hallway and walked toward the Royal Apartments.   _I should apologize to Dany_ , he thought.   _Perhaps she has been right all along._

The stunned and timid servants and guards watched silently as he passed.  Some bowed and even knelt in fealty, showing a level of obsequence toward their sworn liege that they have never displayed.  "Your Grace, where are you going," Varys asked quietly, his face as stunned by the events as the rest of the small crowd.

The King stopped walking and turned to Varys.  "I am going to consult the Queen about further actions," he replied calmly.  He then continued walking toward the Royal Apartments at a brisk pace.   _Fire and Blood_ , he thought.   _Fire and Blood is the only thing that will save my family._


	47. Daenerys VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany reconcile

Jon appeared in her study unannounced while Daenerys was at her desk writing decrees to quell the sudden rebellion in Flea Bottom.  He was red-faced with fury.  "I just had Tyrion arrested for treason," her husband stated firmly before she could inquire about the source of his anger.

Daenerys pursed her lips.  Tyrion was the only one of her original advisors who had remained with her after the Great War.  However, she was disinclined to defend her Hand.  He was, after all, the source of her current marital strife.  "It was for the best considering," the Queen observed solemnly.  She put down her quill, got up from her desk, and walked toward the King.

Jon rubbed his head.  "Perhaps," he replied as he walked away from the ajar door and inched cautiously toward her.  "But perhaps I acted rashly.  I was angry at Tyrion and I wanted to punish him.  I abused my authority to settle a personal feud.  I let myself be guided by my emotions, not by justice."  He stopped near her desk and frowned.  "I suspended the Charter as well," he added quietly.

She grabbed his hand and gave him a small kiss on the cheek.  He did not turn away from her, which she saw as a good sign, a signal of forgiveness perhaps.  "The city is in flames.  It was necessary, Jon.  I fully support you," she reassured him gently as she caressed his chest and drew him to her waist.  "You are a dragon, Jon.  You will always be my dragon.  We rule by fire and blood.  Sometimes we must use harshness to protect what is dear to us.  Our ancestors would approve of your actions."  The Queen hoped perhaps the current events and the turmoil they had caused would lead her husband to finally accept his true heritage.  

But that was apparently too much to hope for at this particular moment.  Jon's face darkened as soon as she mentioned their shared heritage and he shrugged away from her embrace.  "I am not like our ancestors!" the King stated empathically.  "I will never be **him**!"  He slammed his fists against the desk, causing her inkpot to spill over her unfinished letter.

Daenerys nodded silently and went to her desk and cleaned up the spilled ink as best she could.  "I am sorry, Jon," she whispered.  "I know that my mentioning that upsets you."

Jon grunted but he remained near her rather than angrily storming from the room.  His face slowly melted into a small, sad smile.  "I shouldn't take my anger out on you, Dany," he admitted softly.  "None of this is your fault."  He leaned against her desk.  "I just have difficulty accepting who I am, what I am.  I've lived with a lie so long that it fits more comfortably than the truth."

"But it isn't a lie," Dany insisted gently.  "You don't have to abandon one to embrace the other.  You can be both a Stark and a Targaryen."  She placed her hand on his face and caressed his rough, whiskered cheeks.  "However, you must embrace who you are.  You are Jaeherys Targaryen, King of Westeros.  You cannot spend your life hiding from the truth."

The King winced slightly at her statement.  He shifted away from her embrace and began playing idly with her abandoned quill.  "It isn't that simple, Dany," he whispered.  "If I fully embrace my identity, I fear what I will lose and what I will become."

"The North?" Daenerys asked.  "Is this still about the idle threats of a teen girl?"  She inched toward him and began rubbing his shoulders.  "Lyanna Mormont will come around Jon.  The North always comes around.  They knelt for you during the Great War and will reaffirm their fealty after they've whined a bit.  You will always be the king whom they chose."

Jon continued to frown despite her reassurance.  "It is deeper than just politics, Dany.  I fear becoming like them."  He trembled as he spoke.  "I've often thought about Aerys and how he burned my grandfather and uncle alive as I've sat on that damn throne in the same Great Hall where all the previous evil occurred.  I've imagined how I myself could succumb to such evil.  That same vicious blood runs through my veins.  What if I become like that - a paranoid tyrant like Aerys?"

"The same blood runs through my veins as well, Jon," she reminded him as she continued caressing his tense shoulders.  "I've struggled with the same temptations that you have.  You've helped me overcome those dark impulses."  She smiled sympathetically at Jon.  "I trust you implicitly, my love, to protect our family and to rule our people with justice and mercy.  You are a good man with a keen sense of right and wrong and a great deal of compassion for the weak.  That moral code and that compassion are stronger than any blood."  She gazed into his eyes intently and held him firmly, hoping to demonstrate that her words weren't the flowery half-truths or false flattery he constantly heard from advisors and courtiers.  The Queen truly believed in her king, in his strength and his goodness.  All she wished is that he truly believed in it as well.

Jon appeared to doubt the sincerity of her statements - or more likely his own strength to live up to her belief in him.  He looked at her pensively and moved away from her embrace near the candlelit desk and toward the shadowy darkness beneath the study's open windows.  There he leaned against the billowing curtains and brooded.  Daenerys followed her husband and placed her left hand on his right shoulder.  They stared at the shadows dancing in the gardens for a long silent moment.  Jon finally turned to her.  "Your faith in me is misplaced, Dany.  I've already broken it," he whispered sadly.  "I suspended the Charter.  I arrested our closest advisor in an impulsive fit of anger."

Daenerys smiled at him.  "Tyrion is alive and not a hair on his head has been singed by dragonfire.  He is still in possession of four limbs, ten fingers and toes, and a full set of teeth," she reminded him calmly.  "All you did was arrest an advisor for his public defiance of you."  She gave him a gentle kiss on his lips.  "A few days of contemplation alone in the Black Cells will hopefully cure Tyrion of his current contemptuous attitude toward the Crown," she whispered.  "We will pardon him once the fires and riots in Flea Bottom have been quelched and Littlefinger and his pawn have been dealt with once and for all."

"It is not that simple.  It is never that simple," Jon reminded her.  Tears welled up in his eyes as he spoke.  "I cannot lose you, Dany, but I fear the only way that I can protect our family is by playing games and telling lies, by ordering men imprisoned and laws overturned due to my whims, by burning villages with dragonfire.  Each time I try to protect you, I see myself staring into an abyss.  The comfortable mask of Jon Snow, the bastard son of Eddard Stark, keeps slipping and revealing the ruthless tyrant, Jaeherys Targaryen underneath.  I fear that the next threat to you and our children will lead me down a path of no return.  A time of reckoning is coming, a time when I may have to choose between justice and mercy for my people and safety for my family, between my Targaryen blood and my Stark upbringing.  I fear I will become what I most hate because of my love for you."

Daenerys nodded silently.  There was nothing that she could say that would console her weary, forlorn husband.  Perhaps he was right.  She hoped that Jon would not need to sacrifice who he was for their family, but perhaps it was inevitable.  The ruthless and savvy were the ones who survived, not the compassionate or honorable.  The only thing that the Queen was certain of was that Jon was first and foremost her dragon and would always be her dragon.  If Jon had to choose, he would damn well choose her.  She smiled and caressed her husband.  "You should remain with me tonight.  Let our advisors deal with Flea Bottom," she whispered.  She thought of the secret known only to her - the empty vial of moon tea.  _Another baby would ensure that Jon remains mine_ , she thought.  Daenerys kissed her king again passionately on his lips and then down his body.

Jon reciprocated her kisses.  "I love you, My Queen.  I will always love you."  He picked her up and continued to kiss her body delicately and fully as only her king could.

Daenerys smiled as Jon continued to caress her.  Her king would always return to her.  She continued to kiss her husband while he picked her up and carried her to her bedchambers.


	48. Gilly III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilly confronts Jon about the situation in the Court

Gilly watched as Ned, Sammy, and Jeyne ran around the gardens giggling loudly.  The children, even Sammy, seemed to be blissfully unaware of the chaos surrounding them.   _It is a small blessing that children are so resilient_ , she thought.   _I pray to the old gods they can continue to live in their innocent dream world where they only have to deal with scraped knees and imaginary monsters for a good while longer.  Hopefully, I can insulate Sammy and Jeyne from the harsh realities of the real world._ Real monsters existed.  Gilly had spent her own childhood dealing with such a monster and she was determined to prevent her children from dealing with similar monsters even if they were family.   _Screw the damn Tarlys._

Even in their protected sanctuary of childhood, fear of real monsters had intruded, however.  A small army of nurses and guards surrounded the playing children, keeping a watchful eye on the Crown Prince.  Gilly supposed it was necessary given the current circumstances, but the whole scene reminded her of the toxic environment that little Ned Targaryen had to grow up in.   _The Queen ought to let her husband and children return to the North,_ she thought as she watched the children play.   _And she ought to go with them._ _It would be good for the entire family to leave here and never look back._   However, Gilly was aware that that thought was probably as much a fantasy as children's imaginary ogres.  Despite her gentle words of advice, she doubted that Daenerys would ever allow her husband to leave nor did Gilly's limited understanding of politics lead her to believe that such a move was even possible.

"I heard that the Closing Ball for the Great Council has been canceled," Mistress Cecily observed in a sharp voice, jostling Gilly from her thoughts.  The Ned's nursemaid turned to Gilly with an exasperated look on her face.  "Now that your services are no longer needed, surely you and your family will wish to return to Oldtown."  Her attention shifted back to the children playing loudly and she glared at Sammy who was currently busy smearing mud on her young charge's face.  Cecily sniffed at the spectacle of the two boys happily chasing each other in the muddy gardens as if to emphasize why she particularly wished for Gilly Tarly and her children to leave the Court.

Gilly rolled her eyes furtively at Cecily.  The boys were just having fun, yet the stern nurse apparently found such innocent play harmful to the Crown Prince.  There were so many rules and traditions and protocols that needed to be observed, especially when it came to the Royal Family, and there were so many people in the damn Court determined to uphold silly rules and traditions, even servants like Mistress Cecily who themselves were likely oppressed by it all.  The whole damn Court and the whole damn society should be blown up as far as Gilly was concerned.

"Mama!" Sammy called out to her as she and Cecily continued to watch the children play, an uncomfortable silence settling in between them.  Her dirty son ran toward her holding the hands of the Crown Prince who was also completely covered in mud.  "I told Ned about the big boats down by the harbor like the one we took to King's Landing," Sammy stated matter-of-factly.  "Can we go down to the harbor to see them?  Please?  Ned wants to.  He has never seen the boats or the sea even though he lives in King's Landing."

Cecily stared at Sammy crossly.  "His Highness may not go to the harbor.  It is too dangerous," she snapped.  She grabbed Ned's muddy hand and began walking him toward the Red Keep.  "We should get you a bath, Your Highness," she stated insistently as she sternly directed the Crown Prince to the Red Keep.

"NO!" Ned screamed.  "I wanna stay with Sammy and Jeyne!  I don't want to go back to the palace!  I hate it there!  I hate being a prince!"  He fell down on the ground and began shrieking loudly.

Cecily shot daggers at Gilly as she tried haplessly to calm down the Crown Prince.

Gilly smiled as politely as she could while her temper boiled over.  She was tired of everything being blamed on her and her family.   _Perhaps if you treated Ned like a child, not a doll to be carefully controlled, he wouldn't be so short-tempered all the time!_ she thought testily as she continued to glare at the prince's nursemaid.

"What seems to be a matter!" a deep Northern voice called out from afar.

Gilly turned around to see the King hurrying toward them followed by a gaggle of guards and advisors.  The servants in the Crown Prince's entourage bowed as the King neared where the children had been playing.  Gilly followed their lead and dipped into a sloppy and shallow curtsy while she continued to look at the King curiously.

"Rise," Jon ordered in a bored and slightly annoyed tone.  The King then dropped to the ground next to his distraught son.  He grabbed the toddler into his arms, picked him up, and began shushing him.  "What is wrong, my sweetling?" Jon asked gently as he rocked Ned in his arms.

"I want to leave the Red Keep, Papa," Ned sobbed.  "I want to go see the sea and the big ships.  I want to go to Winterfell where you grew up and play in the snow there like Auntie Arya said you used to!  I don't want to be a prince!"

Jon continued to cuddle his teary-eyed son, his elaborate black and red tunic becoming as dirty as his toddler's muddy hands and arms.  "Shhh, My Dragon," the King whispered as he dried away the tears on Ned's dirty face with his right sleeve.  "Remember that we discussed not having tantrums when you don't get your way."

Ned nodded, his loud sobs turning to quiet sniffles.  "It is unfair, Papa," he told his father solemnly.  "I don't want to be a prince and live in the Red Keep and obey all the dumb rules."

Jon smiled sadly and nodded quietly as if he secretly agreed with his son's assessment of the Red Keep and the dumb rules.  "Aye, but you are a prince.  That is what you are even if you wish otherwise."  The King shifted the child in his arms and looked his son directly in his teary brown eyes.  "We don't get everything we want in life, Ned.  We must deal with life as it is, not as we wish it was," he explained softly.  He kissed his son's forehead.  "You are a very lucky boy, luckier than most little boys in Westeros.  It might not feel that way right now, sweetling, but you are.  You have a mama and a papa and a baby sister who love you.  You will never want for anything."  Jon paused and hugged his son even tighter as if his own life depended on it.  "And Papa will protect you with his life - you and Mama and Rhae," the King promised reassuringly as he placed Ned on the ground gently.

Ned looked at his father skeptically for a moment but finally gave him a weak, tearful smile.  "Okay, Papa," he sniffled.

"There is my brave boy," the King replied proudly.  He gave his son a final squeeze on his shoulder.  "Now run along and do as Cecily tells you to," he ordered gently before gesturing for Ned to go with his nanny into the Red Keep.

Cecily curtsied deeply to the King and then grabbed the young prince's left hand.  She glared once more at Gilly.  The nurse muttered unintelligible curses under her breath as she walked toward the Red Keep with Ned in tow, no doubt words disapproving of both the Tarly children's raucous behavior and His Majesty's "soft" parenting methods.

Jon ignored the angry nursemaid, instead focusing on his son as the Crown Prince's entourage returned to the Red Keep.  Gilly watched as the color and joy that had been evident on the King's face as he interacted with his son slowly drained from him, leaving him looking tired, pale, and desperately sad.  She had never been particularly close to Jon Snow when she had known him during his previous life, a life that felt like an eternity ago.  Jon had been Sam's friend and she had tolerated him because of that.  However, as she observed the forlorn man standing next to her, Gilly's heart overflowed with concern for Jon's well-being.  She smiled sympathetically at the King.  "Thank you, Your Grace, for being so kind to Sammy and Jeyne," she finally stated while gesturing toward her own children who had begun happily playing with each other again, seemingly oblivious to the world around them once more.  It was a small gesture of gratitude, but it was all Gilly could think of at the moment.  She doubted the King ever received true words of thanks, not a sincere one.  Perhaps he would appreciate hers.

"It is good for Ned to play with children who don't treat him like a prince," Jon observed solemnly.

"Perhaps, My King, if I might speak freely," she began cautiously, "it might be for the best if your entire family returns to Winterfell."

"That is what you told Daenerys," Jon mentioned off-handedly.

"You and the Queen have reconciled, Your Majesty?" Gilly inquired surprised by Jon's revelation.

"Aye," the King replied.  "Her Grace is right as she always is.  I must embrace who I am even if I don't want to do so."  The King rubbed his forehead and sadly stared into the distance.

"Blood doesn't define who we are, You Grace," Gilly reminded him.  "It certainly hasn't defined who I am and it doesn't need to define who you are either."

"No it doesn't," Jon admitted softly.  "However, the only way to protect my family is by becoming ruthless, by ruling through fire and blood."

"I thought you were trying to make the world a better place, Your Majesty," she reminded Jon coolly.  "Yet, here you are talking about the same tyranny as before with the same damn rules and the same damn oppression.  You have decided to discard your vision for what?  More power and wealth?"

"No, for my family's safety," the King snapped.  "Ned and Rhae and Dany are the people that matter most to me.  I will protect them with my life if I need to."  Jon sighed and continued to rub his forehead.  "I've tried to be the benevolent ruler that my father and Ser Davos would wish me to be.  In return, my enemies have threatened all that is dear to me.  I will not be merciful or compassionate where the lives of my children and my wife are concerned."

"You do not know how this trial will play out," Gilly insisted. "Perhaps more compassion and mercy are needed, not less."

"The commoners hate the Crown.  They hate Targaryens," Jon growled.  "The mob would have my family ripped to pieces if they could.  I know.  I've heard them curse me out in person when they didn't know who I was."

Gilly nodded.  Jon was exaggerating a bit, but he was right that many commoners disdained nobles in general and the Crown in particular.  She looked at the King sympathetically.  "Then leave Your Grace - Jon," Gilly stated.  "Leave with your family for Winterfell and do not look back."

The King shifted back and looked at her startled by the fact she had used his name.  "The enemies seeking to destroy us in King's Landing- the Iron Bank, Littlefinger, Aegon Targaryen, the Tarlys- will follow us there," he stated darkly.  "They will not stop until we are destroyed."

"The North is your home, Jon," she asked.  "Won't the Queen and your children be safe there?"

Jon's face darkened.  "The North is conspiring against me as well," he snapped.  "There are enemies against my family and my rule everywhere, even in my supposed home."  He frowned and stared at the Red Keep angrily.  "Dany was right.  The only way to protect what is ours is fire and blood," he repeated ominously.  He continued to look at the Red Keep as he spoke.  "I apologize for my distractions, My Lady," he bowed politely.  "I must take leave of you now.  There is much I must do."  The King then began walking toward the Red Keep tailed by his guards and servants.

Gilly shivered as she watched Jon leave with his entourage.  She had been indifferent to him when he was Jon Snow, pitied him now that he had been crowned Jaeherys Targaryen, and feared what he could become.   _I love Sam and my children with all my heart and would defend them with my life_ _.  The King of Westeros is not any different,_ Gilly observed to herself.  The King would act the same way she would.  He would protect his family as well - with fire and blood as necessary.  And that thought frightened Gilly deeply.   _Jon will let the world burn to protect those that he loves._  Gilly did not begrudge the King that.  She would do the same.  But she was also not king.  Gilly gathered her own children toward her and watched as Jon walked toward the Red Keep.  She held them tight and prayed that she could protect them from real monsters - all of them.


	49. Sansa V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa advises Jon and Daenerys about a political solution to their problems

Sansa sat by Bran's bed, caressed her brother's forehead, and silently willed him to wake.  Ghost nudged next to Bran as well.  The Princess Regent seethed as she kept watch over her brother's bed, annoyed by her siblings' careless actions.  Bran was floating in and out of conscience and muttering about dragons during his brief waking moments, Jon was making poor political decisions, and Arya - Arya was nowhere to be found!  _If I didn't know better, I would think that they wanted our house to be destroyed!_ she cursed each of her siblings again, going so far as to utter a string of undignified words under her breath.

"Your Highness, perhaps it would be best if you leave," one of the servants tending to Bran suggested tentatively as he eyed her warily.

"No, I will remain!" Sansa insisted firmly.

"You should leave, Sansa," Jon's voice echoed from the edge of Bran's bedroom.

Sansa glared at Jon silently.

"You have been by his bedside for the entire morning.  You missed Court," the King observed tentatively.  Her brother inched into the room, his eyes darting toward Bran.  "Has there been any change?" he asked with a frown.

"No," Sansa stated, "just the same restless sleep and nonsensical mutterings about dragons all morning."

Jon walked toward Bran's bed and settled into a chair between her and Ghost.  "Father expected me to protect my siblings and I've failed him.  Bran is in a semi-conscious trance and I have no idea where Arya is," he observed morosely.  "I've failed Father in so many ways.  I've become a ruthless tyrant rather than the just ruler he would wish me to be.  I sold my soul to protect my family and I cannot even succeed at that."  He squeezed Bran's hand tightly and continued to sulk in silence.

Sansa rolled her eyes.  She hated when Jon was in his self-pitying moods but she usually indulged him.  After all, they were family.  However, she didn't feel particularly indulgent at the moment- not now that there were dangerous forces arrayed against them and especially not after Jon had rudely yelled at her in the garden.  Her eyes narrowed and her mouth pursed into a taut frown as she continued to glare at her brooding brother.  "Shut up, Jon," she finally snapped - much to the horror of the servants tending to Bran and to the shock of the King himself.  Even Ghost whimpered slightly at Sansa's sharp comments.

Jon stared at her, his mouth agape.  "Wh...What?" he stammered.

"I thought I was perfectly clear," Sansa replied angrily.  "I told you to shut up!"  She tilted her head toward Jon.  "I know that you want me to reassure you that Father would be proud of you," the Princess Regent growled.  "Well, I'm not in the mood to do so!  I personally don't think you've been acting like a wise king.  You are letting your emotions cloud your judgment and cause you to make rash decisions."

"You have always urged me to act more ruthlessly!  You've always been wary of the Charter and the Crown's reforms!" the King growled.  "I'm selling out my soul and turning my back on everything I believe in to protect you!  And that still isn't enough for you, Sansa!  Nothing I do will ever meet with your approval!"  The frown on his face grew deeper and he turned his head away from her.

"It isn't my job to massage your ego, Jon.  I'm your sister, not your wife," Sansa reminded Jon coolly.  She grabbed his right arm and forced him to look her in the eyes.  "Yes, I advised you to act ruthlessly - but in a calculating manner.  You make rash decisions and let your emotions get the better of you.  You should not have arrested Tyrion.  We need his political expertise.  Or do you really believe that you have enough political skill to manage Littlefinger and the Iron Bank yourself?"

Jon grunted.  "I arrested Tyrion because he was plotting against the Crown!  What would you have me do instead?  Perhaps if I offer Randyll Tarly another marriage proposal, all our problems will evaporate!"

"I thought that would work!" Sansa snapped.  "How was I supposed to know that a man as egotistical as Tarly wouldn't jump at the opportunity to have his granddaughter marry the Crown Prince?"

"Perhaps if you weren't so interested in playing Court games, you would provide better counsel," the King growled.  "It is all about soirees and protocol and silly games and alliances with you!"

Sansa rose, her face turning a bright color red.  She wanted to slap her brother across the face and she probably would have done so if he wasn't her king and they weren't in the presence of servants.  Instead, she took a few deep breaths to collect herself and pinched his right arm.  "Don't you ever mock what I do for our family again, Jon!" she replied.  "Those parties, my glittering image are all about politics!  Perhaps, if you had even a basic understanding of how these things work, you would realize that!"

"I understand politics!  I've been king for over three years!" Jon yelled.  He continued to glare at her, annoyed by her doubting his abilities as a ruler.

Sansa stared at Jon incredulously.  Before she could come up with a witty retort to his ridiculous statement, she heard Bran gasping for breath.  She turned her attention back to his bed and began desperately shaking her semi-conscious brother awake.  "Look what you've done now, Jon!  Your yelling has made him worse!" she stated accusingly as she continued to frantically caress Bran.

"Stop it!" Bran shouted, his eyes suddenly opening and his body collapsing onto his pillows.  He took a few more uneven breaths and pulled himself up into a sitting position.  "Why are you arguing with each other so loudly?" Bran asked them as his eyes blinked open further and he stared at them disoriented.

Sansa sobbed tears of joy and grabbed Bran in a tight bear hug.  "You're alive!" she smiled.  "You're okay!"

Bran appeared unmoved by her joyous reaction.  "Yes, I know that I'm alive," he observed stoically as he reached over to rub Ghost on the head.

Jon looked at Bran, his face a mixture of relief that Bran was awake and anger over their brother's blase reaction to Sansa.  "That's all you want to say!" the King remarked sternly.  He drew his chair closer to Bran's bedside and looked him straight in the eye.  "Brandon Stark, we've all been worried about you!  You've been in and out of consciousness for over three days!  You don't seem to care about the grief you put us all through!"

Bran continued to eye his brother calmly.  "I was having a vision," he remarked plainly.  "These things sometimes take awhile.  You shouldn't have worried about me."  He smoothed out the quilted blanket covering his legs.

"You promised you wouldn't do this again, Bran," Sansa reminded him delicately.  "These episodes concern us."

Bran shrugged.  "Sam asked for my help," he replied calmly.  "Besides, something needed to be done.  Everyone has been so absorbed in their silly games and petty arguments that they forgot who our real enemies are."  He pulled himself further up onto the pillows.  "Has Sam spoken with you?" he asked Jon solemnly.  "He was supposed to speak with you about what I saw."

Jon tilted his head slightly, confused by Bran's statement.  "Sam hasn't told me anything.  He has been avoiding me even more since Randyll Tarly left the Court in a snit."

"I told him not to avoid you," Bran grumbled.  "It is stupid for him to lose a friendship over a crown."  He turned to Jon and Sansa.  "I will speak to Sam about this later," he sighed exasperatedly.  "You are both here, so I can tell you what I need to know."

"Bran, my dear brother, you have been through quite an ordeal," Sansa whispered caressing her brother's brow.  "You must conserve your energy."

Bran smiled, her entreaties barely fazing him.  "Do you want to hear about my vision or do you want to continue with your silly argument?"

Jon continued to eye Bran cautiously; the King appeared unsure how to react to Bran's vision.  "I would love to learn what you saw, Bran," he finally explained in a careful tone.

Bran frowned.  "You are being dismissive of my visions," he observed exasperatedly.  He shot Sansa an annoyed look.  "As usual!"

Sansa pursed her lips.  She knew that she shouldn't be so dismissive of her brother's abilities.  They did generally provide the Starks with useful information.  However, even in a world filled with dragons and fantastic monsters, Sansa still had trouble seeing her little brother as an all-knowing seer, even more so than seeing Jon with a crown on his head.  The Princess-Regent rubbed her forehead again.  "We shouldn't be so dismissive of you, Bran," she replied apologetically.  "It is just that this remains so new to all of us.  It's only been three years."

"You shouldn't be dismissive of me!" Bran repeated angrily.  He sighed and continued to glare at them.  "You need to know anyway.  The Iron Bank plans to capture the dragons.  They want to control them, not kill them."

"How would they do that?" Jon asked confused.  "Only those with Targaryen blood can control the dragons.

"There is a horn that Littlefinger hopes to obtain.  He wants you to use the dragons so he can get near them," Bran insisted.  He grabbed Jon's left shoulder.  "Don't let him, Jon!  I know you wish to use the dragons to defeat the forces arrayed against us!  I know that thought has entered your mind quite often lately!  You are going to do something you regret with dragon fire, Jon!  Be careful!"

Jon flinched at Bran's statement and moved away from the bed.  "I will do what needs to be done to protect my family, to protect you, Brandon Stark!" he snapped.  His face darkened.  "I am king, not you!"  Jon then stormed out of the room tailed by Ghost.

Sansa watched silently as Jon left the room.  She was becoming more and more concerned about him the longer she lingered at the Royal Court.  She didn't like this new Jon - the angry tyrant that King's Landing was slowly turning her beloved brother into.  She knew that a ruler had to be ruthless sometimes, but she didn't want Jon to turn into someone he would come to despise.   _I might criticize Jon for his naivety, but this ruthless anger has gone too far_ , she thought.  She smiled apologetically at Bran, picked up her skirts, and followed Jon out into the hallway.  She found him leaning against a column in a hidden alcove, his face still a crimson red and his mouth narrowed into a desperate frown.

"What am I to do, Sansa?" he whispered, sensing her presence.  "I need to act ruthlessly or our family will be destroyed.  For all I know, the Tarlys have completely abandoned us for Littlefinger as well!"

Sansa sighed and kissed him gently on the cheek.  "We do need to act ruthlessly toward our enemies, Jon," she pointed out softly.  "However, you must also show that you remain a champion of the people.  You cannot punish the commoners in the same manner as the lords."  She squeezed his hand.  "Remind your people that the Crown cares for them."

Jon's face softened and returned to its normal color.  "You are right Sansa," he smiled melancholy.  "Flea Bottom has been destroyed and so many of my subjects have lost their homes and livelihoods and here I am sulking about trivial things!"

"Sulking about trivial things is what you do best, Jon," Sansa said with a smile.  "It is what I love most about you, but..."

Jon laughed weakly.  "There is always a 'but' with you, San," he whispered.   He paused for a moment and looked out the window.  "Father would be proud," he observed sadly.

"Perhaps you and the Queen could go and inspect the damage," Sansa whispered looking at her forlorn brother.  "Let the people know you are with them, not the lords.  Littlefinger is trying to separate the populace from the Crown!  Bran may sometimes seem naive, but he is right that you shouldn't rule by fear alone."

"I realize that!" the King replied, turning away from the window and toward her.  "It's just that I don't particularly feel like playing the role of benevolent king right now."  Jon rubbed his head and patted Ghost on his head.  He took a few more ragged breaths.  "But I also know that it isn't up to me anymore.  I cannot indulge such selfish emotions," he admitted softly.  "I'll suggest that we make a trip down to Flea Bottom, Sansa.  Dany won't object to such a gesture."  With that, the King turned and began walking toward his rooms again muttering unintelligible curses under his breath.

Sansa watch as a forlorn Jon walked toward his rooms and then began walking back to Bran's room.  She was glad that she talked Jon down from his latest angry rant, but she was still worried about him.  The weights he carried had led him to a breaking point.  _Jon_   _needs to return to Winterfell and soon before he becomes completely broken_ , she admitted to herself even though she knew the King could not return to home permanently. _Perhaps a temporary rest will be enough.  Perhaps._   But she knew that even that even that hope was probably wishful thinking.

"Sansa," Jon's voice called out to her as she opened the latch to Bran's rooms.  "Wait."

Sansa turned and saw both Jon and Ghost walking toward her hurriedly.  "Do you need anything else from me, Jon?" she asked softly.

"Just to accept my apology," Jon replied as he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into a bear hug.  "I shouldn't take out my frustrations on you!  I am sorry about that."

"And I shouldn't tell my king to shut up," Sansa stated.

"Ahh..  Do that whenever you wish!  You are the only person who does!" Jon sighed ruefully.  He gave her a gentle kiss on her cheek.  "And tell Bran I'm sorry as well.  I shouldn't act so dismissive toward him even though I don't understand his powers or visions."  The King gave her one more squeeze and finally walked toward his apartments followed by Ghost.

Sansa paused and shivered slightly as she watched Jon leave.  The words of forgiveness from her brother did not provide her with the peace he had intended.  A sense of foreboding lingered in the air and left her feeling only dread.


	50. The Rightful King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aegon agrees to a plot to rid himself of his "brother" once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a light note: So two updates. I am so it took so long, but I had to deal with lots of IRL issues and was facing a bit of writers's block.
> 
> On a serious note: Some jerk (or jerks) accused me of using fake comments/ anonymoys comments/ pseudonyms. I did not do this. This seems like a clear attempt by a certain sector of fandom to silence a story they don't like and have my works removed from AO3. This really ticks me off as I just ignore stories I hate, which is virtually all of the stuff on the Jonerys tag, especially the BDSM stuff. Please feel free to continue leaving comments with both user names and anonymous if you wish, but any additional Daenerys trolls are just going to be deleted.

Aegon Targaryen was tired of many things - the putrid smells and cramped quarters of the rented manse near the docks, the lack of support from the Iron Bank, the wait to take his rightful place on the Throne, the mockery and condescension of even his allies toward him.  Of all the annoyances, the condescension angered him the most.   _I am the True King and should be respected as such!_ he thought as he glared at Lord Petyr Baelish.   _I should order his execution!_ Of course, Aegon knew that it was impossible.  He was reliant on Baelish for funding and intelligence and all the sellswords purchased with the Iron Bank's coin appeared more loyal to the attainted minor lord than to their rightful king.  But still, the fantasy that he could, no the reality that soon he would be able to order that sniveling schemer's death kept Aegon's spirits up.

Petyr Baelish glanced up from the parchments that he had been reading with a sardonic smile on his face.  "What is troubling you, My King?" he asked in the simpering tone that he usually adopted when he was trying to placate Aegon.

Aegon glared at Petyr.  "I am tired of waiting!" he snapped.  "You seem uninterested in getting me my rightful Crown!"

Petyr dropped the parchments he had been reviewing and sighed.  "I told you that it would take time, Your Grace," he reminded Aegon gently.  "It's been just over two months, Your Grace!  Plots take time!"

"You aren't doing anything but having that peasant stir up the mob with speeches!" the King of Westeros spit out angrily.  "If I didn't know any better, I'd think that you planned to crown him king instead!"

"Gendry Waters is a valuable pawn right now, My King," Petyr stated plainly, "but he is nothing more than a pawn and I will discard him once he has outlived his usefulness."

"And how do I know that you don't regard me in such a manner as well!" Aegon growled as he leaned over Petyr's desk menacingly.

Lord Baelish smirked slightly at this remark, but his face soon became unreadable again.  "I would never treat my true king in such a manner," he simpered oily.

Aegon's scowl turned into an arrogant smile.   _Lord Baelish is presumptuous, but at least he knows where his interests lie_ , the King thought smugly.   _I will allow him to continue living - at least for now_ _._ "You are forgiven, Lord Baelish," he sniffed regally.  "But my mercy has limits.  If I don't get my Crown soon..." he added.

"And I counsel patience, Your Grace," Petyr replied exasperatedly.

"Aye, patience!" Aegon screamed.  "Perhaps I should just seize the Crown myself!  I am the only one who has done anything of use!  I set off riots in those miserable slums while you count coppers and write reports!"

Lord Baelish smiled at him indulgently.  "Aye, My King, you created quite the destruction in Flea Bottom while reminding the populace exactly why they despise and fear the Targaryens," Petyr complimented Aegon smoothly.  Aegon detected a hint of sarcasm in his voice but paid it no heed.

"Yes, I showed exactly what can be done with just a bit of initiative and yet my servant still counsels patience!" The King squealed.  "Well, I am tired of being patient! My methods work while your inane plots are leading us nowhere!"  Aegon glared at Baelish once more and stormed out of the manse.  "I will have my Crown!"

Aegon walked aimlessly around the docks fuming about Baelish latest insults toward him and unsure what to do next.   _Perhaps I could hire an assassin to take out my brother and aunt_ , he thought angrily.  Of course, Aegon did not have money to hire even a simple guard, let alone a skilled hitman.   _Perhaps a skilled assassin would be willing to accept a delay in payment_.

"Ahh, the Rightful King of Westeros.." a sarcastic Dornish voice observed from the shadows.  One of that Dornish harpy's daughters slipped from the shadows and stared at him disdainfully.  "Contemplating the Throne you will never get?" the woman, who was scantily clad in a midriff shirt and tight pants, asked mockingly.

"Your mother was more than willing to support me when it suited her interests," Aegon growled.

"It was an unwise alliance that led to nothing but further humiliation for Dorne!" the scantily dressed woman growled.  "We spent a week as prisoners in the Red Keep and were only permitted to leave our rooms when we agreed to beg the King and Queen's pardon on our knees before the Court."  She snarled.  "The great Jaeherys Targaryen's magnanimous mercy at work."

Aegon rolled his eyes.  "Poor you," he snapped.  "All Jaeherys Targaryen did was order you to beg for his forgiveness.  I have suffered a much greater slight at his hands.  He stole my rightful throne!"

"Your rightful throne!"  the woman snarked.  She snaked around Aegon to his front.  "All you do is complain about it.  You never act!"  She stared at him contemptuously.  "As Mother said, you are weak!"

The King glared at this woman.   _How dare this tart taunt me in such a manner!_ he growled to himself.   _If she only knew that I was the one who set Flea Bottom ablaze!_

The Dornish woman smirked silently at him.  "Pity you just want to sit on your ass and whine," she replied mockingly.  "If you actually were man enough to act, perhaps I could help provide the means!"

Aegon snarled.  He was tired of everyone taunting him and his rightful claim.  "I already acted!  I am the one who burned Fleam Bottom to the ground!  I burnt the grain stores to the ground!" he declared forcefully.

The woman cocked her head, slightly bored by his declaration.  "I guess it is something," she said with a yawn.

"Something!" the King replied, his face turning beet red.  "I am the one who led the usurper to suspend his charter!  I am the one who exposed that bastard for what he is!"

Ellaria Sand's daughter sniffed at him.  "Jaeherys and Daenerys Targaryen are still in charge," she reminded him tauntingly.  "All you did was cause Jaeherys to suspend his foolish Charter."

"What else can be done!" Aegon snapped.  "I have no money for an assassin."

"Why hire an assassin when you can do the job yourself?" the woman asked seductively.  She pulled a small vial of something from a chain around her neck and dangled it in front of his face.

"How???" the King stammered.

The Dornish woman grinned.  "Their Royal Majesties will be coming Flea Bottom to inspect the damage mid-week," she explained.  "They will be out of the Red Keep, vulnerable enough that assassination will be possible."  She placed the chain back around her neck and fondled the vial.  "All it will take are two or three arrows.  There are ways that even a small scratch to be deadly."

Aegon smirked.  "So I will provide the arrows and you the poison."  He sniffed at the woman, his smile dimming slightly.  "What do you want in return?" he asked warily.  "I am not going to marry you!  A Dornish tart like you is unfit to be a Targaryen consort!"

The woman spat on the ground.  "I have no desire to be your submissive consort," she rolled her eyes.  "It sounds so constraining!"  She laughed uproariously and fondled the vial of poison hanging around her neck.

"Then what do you want!" Aegon snapped.

The woman's face darkened and she pursed her lips in a deep frown.  "A large bag of gold from the Iron Bank," she stated calmly.  "And revenge for the many slights and humiliations that the Crown of Westeros has caused my family!"  She grimaced and held out her hand for him.  "I am Tyene Sand, by the way," she added as she gripped his hand tightly and shook it firmly.  "You might as well know my name as we are going to be assassinating a king together," she observed grimly.


	51. Jon IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is confronted by his worst fear as he and Dany try to calm down King's Landing

Dark dreams and dark thoughts continued to haunt the King.  Neither wake nor sleep provided Jon with any relief.  His days were filled with angst about his fitness to rule.  His nights were filled with restless dreams, except visions of fearsome dragons burning King's Landing to the ground had replaced his regular midnight hunts with his direwolf pack.  How he wanted the visions and premonitions to disappear!  How he wanted to be rid of it all!  But Jon knew that the gods would not part with their plaything.  He doubted that even his three guardians could grant him the peace he wished for.  The King realized, as hard as he tried to deny the truth, that he could not hide from his true heritage forever.  He was not Jon Snow, the bastard son of Eddard Stark.  He had never been Eddard Stark's son.  He had always been Jaeherys Targaryen, the King of Westeros and a great hero or a great villain depending on who one asked.  He was a Targaryen and more and more, the fire and blood, the darkness and dragons consumed him despite his frantic efforts to prevent the darkness from enveloping him fully.

Jon sighed and buttoned his plain black tunic as his valets and servants scurried about preparing their king for his day.  A vivid dream of dragons burning down King's Landing had caused him to awaken in a cold sweat again during the previous night and had left him tired, sore, and irritable.   _And today of all days I must appear as a reassuring and regal figure_ , he thought as he frowned at the ghostly pale figure staring back at him in the mirror.  He and Daenerys were scheduled to tour Flea Bottom that morning.  Jon knew he needed to convey both compassion and firmness to his subjects, and he doubted that the ashen and burdened figure staring back at him in the mirror could convey either.

"You look ill, Jon," Daenerys observed as she walked into his dressing room, the skirts of her black riding dress rustling slightly as she moved toward him.  She gently placed her left hand on his right shoulder and stared at his ashen reflection in the mirror disapprovingly.  "You did not sleep."

"I had the dream again last night," Jon explained wearily as he rubbed his blurry eyes and fidgeted with the buttons on his tunic.  "Dragons were burning down King's Landing."

Dany pursed her lips.  "It is just a dream, Jon," she reminded him firmly.  "You should not spend your life worrying about a false vision!"

The King groaned.  He wished he could take comfort in his wife's firm reassurance but he found it impossible.  His nightmares frequently became realities.  "What of the visions that have already come true?  What of the Night King and the Azor Ahai?" he asked his wife sadly.  "Were those not also dismissed as fantasies?"

The Queen removed her hand from his shoulder but continued to stare disapprovingly at her husband's reflection in the mirror.  "You sound like Bran!" she finally huffed.  "Fate no longer controls our destiny.  Fate was destroyed along with the enemy three years ago.  We now control our own destiny through the strength of our blood and through our dragons!"

"Maybe we don't!  Perhaps Bran is right!" Jon snapped.  "Perhaps these premonitions are correct just like the visions I dismissed as only tales during the Great War were!  Perhaps we remain pawns of the gods!"  He turned away from Daenerys and began walking toward the dressing room's doors.  "Bran knows more about me than I know about myself.  He knows about my dreams of dragons burning down King's Landing."

"What is wrong with the dragons?" Dany asked angrily following after him.  "They guarantee our rule!  We cannot rely on the Reach anymore.  The Tarlys are gone!"  She paused and bit her lip, tactfully refraining from including the words she wanted to add to her tirade.

Jon stopped and glared at his wife, annoyed by her implied accusation.   _Because_ _of your sister.  That is what she wants to say.  She blames Arya of breaking our alliance with the Tarlys,_  he thought testily.  However, Jon knew better than to mention his thoughts to Daenerys; he didn't want to ruin his tenuous reconciliation with his wife.

Dany's angry frown melted into an apologetic smile.  She placed her hand on his shoulder again and rubbed it gently.  "I did not mean to..." she whispered apologetically.

Jon sighed.  "It's no problem," he sighed and turned back toward the door, the neutral regal expression that Arya teasingly called his king face firmly on. "Let's get this farce over with," he grumbled.  He grabbed the Queen's hand and gestured for the attendants to open the door. 

His wife squeezed his hand reassuringly as the couple walked through the stately hallways to the courtyard where their escort was waiting.  She smiled broadly and waved graciously to the courtiers and servants who had stopped to pay homage to their monarchs.  Despite her seeming annoyance with him, Jon surmised that Daenerys was in a good mood and was even enjoying herself.  Jon paused at the gates of the Keep's courtyard and watched in silent awe as Daenerys gracefully mounted her horse.  The role of gracious queen came naturally to Daenerys in these types of moments (at least when the medicines had her hallucinations under control.)  She was much better than he was at hiding her own doubts, fears, loneliness, and pain.  In spite of his melancholy mood, Jon smiled slightly as he mounted the steed brought to him by his guards.  "You appear happy.  I am glad for that at least," he told Dany as he grasped the horse's reins.

Dany nudged her horse and motioned for the guards to open the palace gates. "I believe that you will be as happy as I am soon, Jon," she stated cryptically.  "I only wish for you to be content in King's Landing with your family and your crown.  As your wife, it is my duty to provide you with that contentment."  She delicately touched her belly with her left hand.

Jon stared at her confused by her statement as they began riding into the city.  "What.. What do you mean, My Love?" he whispered to her as their entourage of guards and servants began to wind through the streets of the Upper Town.

Dany waved to the curious crowds that had gathered to watch the royal procession as she rode astride through the narrow streets of King's Landing.  "It is a secret - at least until I know for sure," she teased him with a coy smile, her purple eyes twinkling with delight.

The King nodded slightly at his wife's cryptic words.  He was truly glad that his wife seemed content and was reveling in her role as queen.  But with all the turmoil, plots, and dangerous games swirling around them, he wasn't sure what the source of her happiness could be.   _What is she cryptically hinting at?  Something that would make me_ _happy?_ he asked himself.  He stared at her baffled by her demeanor.  But Jon let his confusion over the Queen's words subside, deciding to focus instead on the crowds in front of him.  He solemnly waved and smiled, trying to mirror his wife's regal demeanor as they rode through the city toward Flea Bottom.  Their subjects were subdued in their cheers but not openly hostile as he had feared they would be.  Yet, the atmosphere still made Jon feel uneasy.  _They are cheering because they fear us, not because they love us_ , he observed as he continued to solemnly wave to the crowd.  Both the King and his subjects were playacting at roles they both despised.

The crowds grew sparser as they neared the harbors.  The blackened and charred remains of buildings lined the streets of the Lower Town and guards stood silently along the royal party's route.  _Dreams are just that - dreams.  They don't necessarily come true_ , Jon reminded to himself unconvincingly as he surveyed the destroyed streets in front of them.  Jon scanned the charred buildings for threats, his hand grasping Longclaw's hilt out of habit.

Sensing his concern, Daenerys nudged her horse toward his.  "What is wrong, Jon?" she whispered into his right ear.

"There is something amiss, Dany," he explained as his eyes darted around the narrow street.  "Things just feel wrong."  He grabbed his sword's hilt more tightly.

The sparkle in the Queen's purple eyes dimmed and she frowned slightly.  "We'll be fine," she replied firmly.  "It is too late to return to the Red Keep now.  We cannot make such a scene here in front of our subjects."  She went back to smiling and waving graciously at the few residents of Flea Bottom who had emerged from the burnt remains of their houses to greet their king and queen.

Jon scanned the crowd that had emerged to greet the royal entourage.  The ragtag peasants seemed sincere and even if they had been hostile, he doubted that the unarmed peasants in their homespun calico would prove much of a match against the heavily armed guards that had accompanied the King and Queen on their visit.  But the eerie silence continued to make him feel uneasy.  Something was not right and Jon sensed it in his bones.  Jon dismounted his horse and walked over to help Dany down from hers.  He gently placed his wife on the ground and scanned the crowd again.  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a muscular brown-haired man.   _Gendry?_ he thought.   _Why.. Why is he here?_ The figure disappeared suddenly, causing the King to gulp.  _Why would Gendry disappear like that?  Something isn't right.  We're in danger._ He ran toward his wife.  "We're leaving now, Dany!" he shouted grabbing her arm before she could protest.

"Jon, have you gone mad!" Dany yelled at him as he hurried her away from the crowd of peasants and toward their guards.  She pulled away from his arms and walked back to toward their subjects.

The King ran after his wife again but before he could get to her, he heard a barrage of arrows.  "Dany!" he screamed.  "Get down now!"  He continued running toward her only to be dragged away from the crowd and into the charred out hull of a small hut by his bodyguards.  "Where's my wife!  Where's Dany!" he yelled as he leaned on the frame of the charred house and attempted to make sense of what had happened.  He ran toward the doorway only to be blocked from leaving by two guards.

"Stay here, Your Grace," one of the soldiers ordered.

"The Queen..." Jon asked frantically as he preened his head out the doorway, struggling to see where Dany was.  She had to be alright!  He couldn't live without her!

After what seemed like an eternity, four guards carried an injured Dany toward him.  A broken arrow was sticking out her right shoulder, drenching her black dress.

"The baby," she muttered weakly to him as one of the captains lay her down on the table and began applying a tourniquet to her wounded shoulder.  "Make sure the baby.."  Her voice trailed off.

"The what!" Jon sobbed.  "What baby!"

Dany screamed in pain but didn't answer him as the guards continued to frantically attempt to save their queen.

"Your Grace, I've commandeered a carriage!" Jon heard one of the captains yell.  "We must get the Queen back to the Red Keep now!"

The King nodded dumbly and allowed his bodyguards to lead him into a plain, covered wagon.  He grasped his wife's left hand and silently sobbed as the wagon raced through the streets of King's Landing toward the palace.  His face paled and his eyes darkened as he watched Dany fall in and out of consciousness.  Darkness and rage enveloped him as he watched his wife struggle for her life.  His enemies had taken everything from him!  They would pay for it!  He would unleash fire and blood to destroy them all - starting with his wife's assassin, Gendry Waters!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. No, Dany doesn't die. She's protected by plot armor. I promise.  
> 2\. Poor Gendry is in the wrong place at the wrong time. Why Gendry was mulling around the King's party in Flea Bottom and why he suddenly disappeared will be explained in the next chapter - which is someone else's perspective of the same scene.


	52. Arya VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya meets up with an old friend while trying to protect her brother.

Arya crept behind the charred out remains of a peasant's small shop in Flea Bottom. She grimaced slightly as she watched the small crowd that had gathered to greet the King and Queen.  Of all the stupid things for Jon to do, he had to play gracious king and survey the damage in Flea's Bottom himself.   _I was just beginning to figure out a way to help Jon!_ she thought as she slipped into the alley shadows annoyed by her brother's actions.   _And he has to go play compassionate hero!_   Of course, Arya knew that this wasn't Jon's idea.  Not even the high-strung Dragon would have thought that such a rash outing was wise (especially since Dany seemed wary of the commonfolk.)  No, only one person could have come up with this idea - Sansa.  She rolled her eyes and spat on the ground.   _Sansa's naivete will cost Jon his life!_ she reminded herself silently.

"The King and Queen are coming," a small girl in ragged brown calico squeaked.  "I saw the royal banners just ahead!"  She giggled in anticipation.

The small crowd that had gathered outside murmured in nervous anticipation at this pronouncement.  Arya groaned slightly, clutched Needle, and went back to watching for threats to her brother.  A familiar brown head caught her eyes, causing her face to turn brighter red and her to mutter a string of unintelligible curses.   _Blast! What is Gendry doing here!_ she thought angrily as she rose from her hiding place and strode over to the odious blacksmith.  "What are you doing here!" she whispered loudly as she grabbed the sleeve of Gendry's shirt and tried to pull him away from the crowd.

Gendry stood his ground, refusing her command to leave.  "I am greeting the King and Queen as is my right as their subject," he replied coolly.  "I don't answer to you, Your Royal Highness!"

"Are you mocking me!" Arya growled.  She let go of Gendry's arm and moved her left hand toward Needle.

"I would do nothing of the sort," the blacksmith replied acidly.  "I learned the hard way that mocking a princess will get a man imprisoned."  Gendry turned away from her and toward the crowd anticipating the King and Queen.

Arya laughed angrily at Gendry's attempt to ignore her.  "Yes, Gendry, you are just here to greet Their Royal Majesties as an obedient subject," she mocked the blacksmith.  She walked next to him.  "I don't believe you!" she growled.  "What are you up to?  And don't tell me any more half-baked lies!"

Gendry motioned for her to follow him into a small alcove.  He eyed her hesitatingly and then looked to the ground.  "I plan to confront the King and Queen," he finally replied haltingly.

"Confront the King and Queen!" Arya whispered loudly.  She drew her sword and pointed it at Gendry's chest.  "You were planning to kill my brother, weren't you!" she observed frantically.  She twisted the sword near his chest.  "I should kill you now!"

Gendry looked at her subdued.  "I said that I would confront the King and Queen.  I did not say kill him!" he snapped.  "I saved your brother from getting killed in Flea Bottom, Arya! " he reminded her angrily.  "I saved him and even now you doubt my intentions!"  He crossed his arms on his chest and turned away from her.

Arya stared at him confused.  "If you did not want to assassinate Jon, then why are you here?" she asked him again.  "What do you mean by confronting him?  If you don't plan violence, what exactly is your plan?"

Gendry's eyes became animated.  "The King and Queen ought to hear the actual concerns of the commoners rather than this staged farce," he pointed out.  "They should understand why people are angry!  The Crown has done little for the commoners!"

Arya grimaced.  "Oh that," she replied sarcastically.  "That nonsense talk about my brother again!"  She sniffed disdainfully.  "I much prefer Gendry the blacksmith to Gendry the political revolutionary."

"You are mocking me!" the blacksmith yelled.  "This is serious Arya!  The Crown should be forced into reforms that help the commoners!  Take lands away from the lords and give it to peasants willing to farm it!  Allow commoners onto that fancy council they created!"  He looked at her passionately.  "No more of the window dressing!  No more small projects to placate the commoners or pieces of paper easily ripped up!  Real reform that helps people is what is needed!"

Arya yawned as Gendry spoke and began idly toying with Needle.  "Are you finished with your speech, Gendry?" she asked him.

Gendry's face grew redder.  "I shouldn't talk to you about this!" he observed angrily.  "The Arya that I used to know would have cared about the commoners!  She saw firsthand how the commoners suffered!"  He turned away from her.  "But apparently Her Royal Highness only cares about playing silly political games now!"

Arya wanted to slug Gendry in the face because of this accusation.  But instead, she paused and frowned.  Gendry was right that she had changed.  She was invested in the political games now.  She hated who she had become and what her family had become.  She just wanted to go home to Winterfell already!  But Arya was always not so naive that she thought she could just saunter home to Winterfell.  First, her family's enemies, Littlefinger, Aegon, the Iron Bank, and even the Tarlys, needed to be defeated.  And her old friend was getting in the way of that.  She eyed Gendry calmly and sadly.  "I know that I'm playing their silly court games, Gendry," she whispered.  "I hate what I have become."   Arya paused slightly and began toying with Needle again.  "But I will do what is necessary to protect my brother!  And no one, not even an old friend will stop me!"  She pointed Needle at Gendry's chest again.  "Now leave!" she ordered Gendry curtly.  "Leave here and go back to your forge!  Stop trying to stir trouble against Jon!"

Gendry stared at her skeptically.  "I don't believe you, Arya," he replied calmly as he pushed Needle away from his chest and began walking toward where Jon and Daenerys had begun to dismount their horses.

"I mean it, Gendry!" Arya yelled, running after him.  "You will do as I order!"  She swung the hilt of her sword at the back of his legs, causing him to stumble and fall on his back.  She smirked as she looked at Gendry splayed out on the ground in front of her.  "I might be smaller than you and I might only a woman, but I will remind you that I am still dangerous!" Arya stated coolly.  She pulled out Needle and pointed it at Gendry's chest again.  "Now stay there on the ground until Jon leaves!"

Gendry glared at her but remained silent and on the ground, conceding defeat.

Arya smirked and continued to point her sword at Gendry.  As she guarded Gendry, she heard shouts and screams in the crowd near where the King and Queen were.  She pulled Needle away from Gendry and watched the crowd fleeing shocked and confused.  "What is wrong!" she shouted at the crowd running past her but no one answered her.  She glanced at Gendry again and began running to where Jon was, her face becoming pale with worry.  Where was Jon!  What was wrong!

She ran into one of Jon's guards as she searched for her brother in the chaos.  "I'm Arya Stark!" she stated.  "And I demand to know what is wrong!  Is my brother okay!"  She tightened her grip on Needle.

The guard eyed her skeptically.  "You will need to come with us!" he ordered.  "Everyone in this crowd will need to remain!"  He grabbed Needle from her right hand.  "And no weapons!" he snapped.  "We are detaining everyone until we find out who tried to kill the Queen!"

"Kill the Queen?" Arya asked.  "What happened to Daenerys!  Where is my brother!"  She glanced at Gendry frantically in the background.  "I won't go with you!" she yelled to the guard and tried to run away from him only to be prevented by the guards' swords.  "I've done nothing wrong!  I want to know if the King is okay!"  Tears began welling up in her eyes.  "Just tell me where Jon is!  Tell me if my brother is okay!"

"Shut up!" the guard ordered Arya sharply.  "I don't have time for lip from a peasant girl!"  He glared at the crowd of scared people who were being detained by the City Guards.  "You are all under suspicion for the attempted assassination of Queen Daenerys!  You will stay here until I say otherwise!"

Arya's face paled further and she eyed Gendry from the background.  He was somehow involved with this.  She knew it!  He had been trying to assassinate Jon after all!  She calmed herself down and stared at the guard.  "My name is Arya Stark.  I am the sister of His Grace, Jaeherys Targaryen," she repeated to the skeptical guard.  "I know that you don't believe me but my brother will confirm my identity!  Take me to him now!"

"Be quiet, girl!" the soldier yelled.

Arya stared at Gendry again.    "I am Arya Stark," she stated coolly.  "I demand to see the King.  Tell His Grace that I know who tried to assassinate him and the Queen!"  She pointed at the blacksmith.  "That man, Gendry Waters, is involved in this!  He was distracting me while I was trying to protect my brother!"  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. Sorry about that ending, but Arya's first loyalty is to her family.


End file.
